


Not A Political Science Major

by weekendsareforwhiskey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Politics, hotel au, this is me venting about American politics essentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendsareforwhiskey/pseuds/weekendsareforwhiskey
Summary: A politically infused take on the 2016 U.S. election (D. Targaryen vs. R. Baratheon) through the conversations and developing relationship between the gift shop girl and accountant of The King's Landing hotel.





	1. The Election

**Author's Note:**

> We all have to do that "I don't own anything" note at the beginning right?  
> I don't own anything about the characters mentioned or the setting besides the hotel they work at.  
> Nah, I don't actually own that. It's a fictional hotel and if it resembles any hotel in existence it is purely coincidental. 
> 
> One shot, but who knows. There are some unedited Word docs regarding this AU that could be added at a later time.

“You’re kidding right? You are honestly supporting Robert Baratheon? Did you not see the news recently?”

“I hardly think a video from eleven years ago counts as recent Sansa,” Petyr smirked while he watched her do her menial gift shop tasks. “And I do believe that you skipped over the employee handbook’s section on inappropriate work topics. Pretty sure politics is number two, right underneath sex.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and started the draining process for the coffee machines, “Those are your favorite topics though. What else am I supposed to discuss with you?” With the lever pulled down all she needed to do was wait until the five-hour-old coffee was all down the drain before she poured in hot water. She refused to lug the two coffee canisters back to the side kitchen to clean. Tonight was going to be a lazy cleaning night since she would be back to open the store the following morning anyway. Because hotel guests definitely wanted room temperature pastries, wine and beer, and King's Landing Hotel garb at five in the morning. It also made complete sense for her to close and then open. She turned back to face her opponent and took a relaxed stance of leaning against the counter, “Besides I’m not talking about that ‘grab the bad pussy’ video even though that is still relevant eleven years later. I’m referring to his recent Tweeting spree with his blatant refusal to discuss the taking down of the wall. Within that spree he consistently uses the term ‘wildlings’ which is an archaic and revolting slur against Canadians. He’s just inciting more hate and anger.”

“I take it you’re voting for the great ‘Khaleesi,’ as all millennials are then?” he scoffed.

“Why wouldn’t I? She’s got experience, great policies, she has fought for and put through countless bills that have bettered our nation’s poor and jobless, and if that’s not enough for you baby boomers she’s got a kickass Veep.”

“God you watch way too much HBO and not enough C-SPAN,” he groaned. “Get your facts straight, I'm a 'directionless and dis-affectionate' generation X-er. But yes, you’re right, everyone loves the disinherited Lannister as her ‘Veep.’”

“The good one,” she muttered and turned to pour a cup of hot water down the canister. A handful of grounds poured out along with the slightly lighter brown water. After contemplating whether or not to she should actually clean them out thoroughly she thought again of her 4am wakeup call and filled another cup with hot water to toss it down.

“Be careful. You are still in their territory…and on their pay roll.” Petyr walked around the marble island smack dab in the middle of the store to stand by her side at the coffee bar. Unlike most of the architecture in the hotel, which was draped in hues of red and gold, the gift shop was stark white with cream marble and sand colored wood touches. LED lights reflected off of the white marble floor casting everything in extremely bright lighting while the lobby was darkened for the night to highlight Inferno's ever-changing strobe lights. The club's windows were blacked out, but they still criss-crossed out the front entrance into the lobby. Petyr leaned against one of the sandy cabinets, “Dany Targaryen is not presidential material.”

“Hey do you guys have condoms in here?” a stranger’s voice yelled from the entrance over the music from Inferno.

Sansa turned to the guest and her companion and smiled, “Yes we do. Give me one moment please.” She walked to the middle of the marble island and pulled out the wooden box from under the register. She held it open for the girl and guy draped around her.

The girl took a sip of her "house specialty" Queen's Watermelon Mojito, which Sansa could recognize by the smell from where she stood, and looked at the two types, “These two are all you have? You don’t have any for His Pleasure?”

“No, I’m so sorry we only have the lubricated and non-lubricated.”

The man laughed and eyed Petyr as if they shared some strange man camaraderie, “Well you don’t need to give me a sex-ed lesson jeeze. Do you at least have some flavored lube?” The girl adjusted her dress’s neckline and unwittingly flashed Sansa in the process.

Sansa took a breath and steeled her face, “I’m afraid not. We are primarily a food and souvenir shop not a sundries shop.”

“You guys are the worst. Where’s the nearest store I can get something better?”

“The front desk agents will be able to locate a drugstore for you if you just go out to your immediate right,” Sansa watched the girl exit and then turned back to Petyr with his cheshire grin in place. She knelt down to replace the wooden box to its spot next to the cigarettes and tossed the girl’s forgotten drink in the dirty dish container underneath the cabinet Petyr was leaning on. “Dany Targaryen is a host unto herself and she’s as honest a politician as this country deserves. I know she has a past of messing up as a leader, but unlike Baratheon she’s learned and grown and enlisted advisors of all backgrounds. She is not run by any need for personal gain or any company. She wants to fight for the 99% not the 1%.”

“We’re just going to ignore the conversation, nip slip, and blatant new money showmanship we were both just privy to?” he chuckled. “Talisa is going to be pissed that you just sent those two over to her when you absolutely know the directions to the nearest CVS.”

“Well I did it because I’d like to continue our political discussion we're having and Talisa is much better at handling idiots than I am. Besides, you’ve already worn down my patience level I set aside for dealing with guests.”

“While I do appreciate the passion and fury of your speech you’ve got some issues,” he stepped away from the coffee bar cabinets and walked around her counter. “You forget that she used to be the 1%, as did Tyrion, and as did you…Well you still technically are even though you’re intent on denying yourself mummy and daddy’s inheritance and trust fund set aside for you.”

“Excuse you! You know perfectly well I don’t intend on ever using that money and I already conceded that Dany has a murky past-“

“Ah, ah. I let you speak now let me. Any good debate has some regulations Sansa.” His head titled down and he gave her yet another knowing smirk. He waited until she bit her lip and had taken a deep breath through her nose before he trusted she wouldn’t interrupt him. “Thank you. Of course I know you never intend to use it, which is idiotic, but whatever helps you sleep at night after eight hours in a wasteland like this. Going on to number two, her bills have not lasted. Her healthcare reform is on Congress’s cutting room floor to be repealed anytime soon, as it’s only the beginnings of her thinly veiled socialism she plans to enact. Congress and Republicans will have none of that and even sane Democrats won’t either. Just look at Greece and the shitshow Europe is going through currently. Her clout is all show and cannot withstand the test of time and practice.” He stopped to take a look at Sansa’s expression as she tried her hardest not to interrupt him. Her ire towards him increasing, when only after taking an extremely lengthy breath he spoke again, “Three, she’s still got that crazy brother of hers to worry about along with her rumors of infidelity. You want to speak ill of Baratheon’s personal dalliances you have to be fair. How many of her advisers has she slept with now?”

Sansa finally burst, “Women have sex so what? It’s a man’s world in politics and it gets messy. I’m surprised you didn’t bring up the rumored incestuous dalliances within her family since you’re stooping so low to bring her brother into the mix. As if he’s an actual problem the country needs to worry about.” A guest walked by the entrance and paused to look in so Sansa turned with a huge welcoming smile, but they retreated. The smile dropped, “He has nothing to do with her ability to run a country and it’s distracting from the real issues at hand. It’s Kardashian level click-bait for Midwestern moms wanting a bit of political gossip that will make them sound like they know two shits outside of their high school education that went down the drain once they got a military husband to knock them up.”

His eyes rolled at her pointed tirade, “That last bit was click-bait level personal fallacies. Viserys sold trade secrets to the Russians and Chinese Sansa,” Petyr deadpanned. “He’ll be in close proximity to the most powerful woman in the free world because she refuses to distance herself completely from him seeing as she believes he’ll change just like the millions of…What did you call them? ‘Poor and jobless’ she’s been turning around?”

“Were those your own words or did you just read Sean Hannity’s teleprompter monologue from the latest edition of Fox Bullshit?” she laughed. “The Russian and Chinese trade secrets weren’t her fault! And if we’re going there how about we discuss Baratheon’s meetings with both of those enemies of the states? Separate meetings, separate months, but three weeks exactly after each meeting, guns and ammunition and possible nuclear weapons were spotted in their military bases across both countries. Not just one or two in each, but dozens. All of which had the Bolton Industries insignia.”

Petyr was quiet, a pensive look on his face. A dark, patronizing tone colored his words, “Oh Sansa, that was not Facebook feed news. It has also not been leaked to the media yet. Did Robb Stark disclose classified information at the dinner table to his precocious Poli Sci major sister?”

“I’m neither of those and no, he didn’t,” she replied coldly. He knew he had her as he watched her face pale.

“Ah so it was the step-brother then?” They both glanced out at Jon and three other security guards stationed at the Inferno entrance and then back at each other.

Silence was all he received in return.

He picked up a pen from the cup next to her register and idly twirled it through his fingers. “You’ll have to learn to let your personal feelings stay out of the way and let your mouth slow down so your mind can help you keep the upper hand. I won’t tell your secrets Sansa, but not everyone is like me. You don’t want everyone knowing you’re the smartest girl in the room.”

“I’m still pissed about the 1% comment.”

The pen danced between his fingers, back and forth, in and out, “You can’t fight what you are Sansa. It’s how you use it that’s important. Don’t let your obstinate emotions take over.”

She looked out at Inferno again willing a guest to come by and break the tension and weird advisement session the conversation had taken. The watch around her wrist said she still had 15 minutes before she could close the doors and finish her closing tasks. She had truly fucked up spilling that last bit of information and he knew it. And she knew how he used information like that over people. Would he use it over her? Or were their gift shop talks enough for him to let it slide for now? He stared at her; her left cheek sucked in between her teeth, neck strained and chest slowly rising and falling as she attempted to control her breathing- whether to keep from crying or just to calm down he couldn’t read.

“Your lackeys are looking for you,” she finally spoke again, jogging him from his staring. Looking out into the growing crowd waiting in line across the lobby he could see Ros exiting Inferno not-so-quietly arguing with Loras and gesturing to the gift shop.

“They know just where to find me,” he sighed and dropped the pen in his pocket as he straightened his suit. Sansa glanced at the silver pocket square he had that stood out against the charcoal suit. His mockingbird tie pin situated on a matching silver tie blended in opposition, but the whole look paired pleasantly. Her eyes took in the fit of the suit as well before they darted away. Silver was his color that was for sure. He ran a hand along the silver at his temple, “Find some solid evidence and maybe you’ll convince me to be With Her come November.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible with the rumors of the nature of your side businesses,” she murmured. “Remind me, you’re the executive accountant right? And how does that entail working Inferno on a Friday night?”

“We all have our vices Sansa. Like you said my favorite topics are politics and sex.” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I dabble in both of those when it comes to work and play?”

With that he walked out to meet up with Ros and Loras. The trio disappeared within the depths of the designer-draped dealers who were all, no doubt, in some kind of debt. Sansa looked down at the packet of white powder she had hid in her pocket from two nights previous after one of their conversations had been interrupted. The guest had actually come in for Petyr, so she'd busied herself while they spoke, he left abruptly and she hadn't realized what it was about until the intoxicated guest had stumbled and fallen. The entirety of the man's pockets dispersed across the floor including a multitude of white packets. She'd knelt down to help and pocketed one, curiosity covering common sense in the moment. He'd scrambled away without a thank you. A deal with Littlefinger. Not Petyr. She rubbed the packet between two fingers. The mockingbird entwined delicately within the Inferno insignia, almost hidden, but still there all the same.


	2. The SoCal Irish Pub Crawl Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never imagined this fic would be my solace in dealing with the election results.  
> But here I am updating this fic after months at 4 in the morning.  
> Also Emilia Clarke posted a season seven film wrap up photo on Instagram and that inspired me oddly?  
> Anywho here's chapter two:

6 October 2016  
“What do you want to do with your degree?” 

It was quite an ambush question from him. 

“Well that’s not our normal discussion topic,” she laughed as she rung up the pretentious organic spearmint gum he always bought from the gift shop. 

He handed her a crisp five dollar bill, “You’re evading.” 

“How dare you give me a brand new five. Do you know how annoying this will be when I’m doling out change? I already know I’m going to be five dollars short because this one will stick to another one.” 

“You’re still evading and also making me worry about your ability to count back change properly.” He took up his usual spot leaning against the counter and popped a piece of the gum in his mouth.

“You don’t normally pull out the question I get asked by everyone who comes over for a dinner at my parents.” She counted his change silently and dropped it into his well-manicured hand. “Scratch that last part. You don’t normally ask the question that _everyone_ in general asks me.” 

“Well it is a pivotal question and a very broad simply-making-conversation-question.” He smirked and tossed the gum packet’s wrapper into the trash can behind her register. “It’s the weather question for undergraduates.” 

Sansa laughed and ran her fingers through her long ponytail. He eyed the motion intently, but she didn’t see as she turned her attention to the empty lobby. “We don’t normally discuss the weather.” 

“Maybe I’m all out of lust for supporting a ‘whoremongering idiot’ as you so lovingly referred to him last time we spoke.” Eyes alight but not in genuine jest she noted when she chanced a glance back in his direction. 

“Neither of those are untrue,” she replied flippantly. “And god forbid Dany have a relationship with one of her—“ 

“You’re deflecting Sansa,” he interrupted. A silent appraisal came before he spoke again, “What do you want to do with your degree?”

“I have no idea,” she replied quietly. The usual reply that she gave with a laugh and a self-deprecating comment normally warded anyone off without further inquiry. They were usually satisfied with the _Oh I’ll probably teach like everyone else_ answer. Their reply was always _Oh goodness teaching is such a rewarding profession so noble impacting all those children’s lives blah blah blah._

It was an inane and tedious blur of empty compliments and they were all liars. These people who had billionaire estates or married into them. They wanted their kids to follow in their footsteps. The Stark family friends were all: Doctors. Lawyers. Politicians. Accountants. Some crooked. Some not. The accountant in front of her eyed her warily. All jest gone. He seemed genuinely concerned or at least interested in what she was silently mulling over. 

“I mean I could go to law school, but I don’t want to be like my mom. And I don’t truly want to get into politics like my dad or Robb…” 

She mulled over what she did want. What would she do with her English major/History minor? Thoroughly unhirable…Wasn’t that a phrase she’d heard while watching a movie with a plot similar to her own life? She’d always loved stories and literature. History fascinated her because it was the true crazy stories of the world and history always had the answers and when it didn’t…Well one could always rely on literature for answers and escape. 

“Sansa where’d you retreat off to?” Petyr broke her reverie with a chuckle. 

An apology almost graced her upturned lips, but she kept herself from saying sorry for no reason. A habit Arya had been trying to get her to kick for ages. “I want to travel honestly. Just like every other twenty-something. And I recognize I have definitely been fortunate enough to go where I’ve been, but there’s a difference between family vacations and actually immersing yourself. I feel like with my degree, if I ever earn it, I can do anything: writing, editing, publishing, teaching…of course.” She added with an eye roll. “I’ve seen a bit of the world thanks to my parents, but I haven’t truly experienced much outside of my own circle.” 

“Spoken like a true misunderstood rich girl,” he teased. 

She tossed a pen at him, “You asked for it. Don’t be an asshole because I’m choosing to be honest with you.” 

A shallow laugh graced her ears when he caught the pen and pocketed it. “I prefer to be honest with you than congratulate you on your selfish humanitarianism.” 

“It’s not like I said I want to change the world. I said nothing about humanitarianism.” 

“We both know you want to change the world even if you refuse to say it out loud. Why else would you support Dany so completely? Why else would you argue with me every day to change my stance?” His head tilted to the left and that stupid smirk emerged, lips slightly pursed like he was trying to reach the sweet part of a lemon drop. 

“Well the world definitely will be changed if we elect Baratheon,” she sighed. “Just not for the better.” 

“I’m not letting you deflect again. Those aren’t ridiculous aspirations Sansa. But you can’t sit around and think it will just happen for you. You can’t get stuck here.” He gestured to the food, drinks, and over-priced souvenirs around them. “You’re capable of far more than this.”

“Well thank you for saying so, but I don’t want to do more than this. At least now. It’s simple and I get paid more than I would be doing way more elsewhere. This way I can save up my own money and not have to rely on my parents to do what I want to do.” She huffed out a short breath. “I got this job because I’m a Stark, but I refuse to have everything in life handed to me because of my father’s name.” 

Petyr rolled his eyes, yet again, and stepped away from the counter. “You could make more money hourly in Room Service or ten times more as an Inferno server. You’re not an idiot you could move up within the hotel and continue earning more money.” 

“I refuse to move up in such a corrupt hotel,” she growled defensively. 

“Oh but you’re content to take the corrupt hotel’s money while doing nothing in here?” 

His jesting attitude was gone, but so was hers. Who was he to tell her what she wanted to with her life? “Why are you so angry about this Petyr?”

“I’m not angry. I just know that you could be doing something that would benefit you more than wasting away in here. Sometimes you set aside your morals to get what you need.” He scoffed, “And you are hardly compromising anymore morals working somewhere other than here. It’s not like you’re becoming a member of the sales team.” 

“Oh because Inferno isn’t full of its own forms of debauchery that Baratheon and the Republican party’s politicians are known for dabbling in?”

“My servers don’t partake in the same activities as the guests Sansa,” he growled.

Her mind flashed to the cocaine with the Mockingbird image. The morals he wasn’t backed up on, but the rest of his argument was sound. The thought of becoming a waitress or hostess for the hotel restaurant or, God forbid Inferno, wasn’t quite an unappealing one. Having Petyr hand her a server position seemed counter intuitive to her strive for independence and reeked of the same references Jon and Robb gave her to get her job in the first place…But the idea of staying in the gift shop until she graduated was an awful idea that made her sick to her stomach. She was saved from admitting the defeat that was written all over her face when her manager entered. 

“Baelish, Sansa. How are you today?”

“Well, thank you Brienne,” Sansa replied sweetly. 

“Exceedingly well,” Petyr followed up. “Brienne, Sansa was just expressing some interest in moving up in the food and beverage department.” 

“Really?” The blonde raised an eybrow. “You want to move up now?”

Sansa took a breath and shot a dirty look at Petyr before answering, “I figure I could do more in another area of the department. It’s always good to challenge yourself and move up.” 

Brienne smiled, “Well I’m really glad to hear that. You definitely will do well in any area. I’ll talk to HR about the necessary paperwork. Baelish I did need to speak with you about Inferno’s covers this weekend. There are a couple of discrepancies.” 

“Let’s take a look in my office.” He gestured for her to lead the way through the front desk hideaway door to the back offices. “Sansa it’s been a pleasure as always.” 

“Yeah, yeah wipe that smug grin off your face,” she laughed. 

“I’ll try. Have a good evening.” He closed the door behind him leaving Sansa alone in the store. 

\------------------------------------------------

8 October 2016 Afternoon

The waves crashed against her body and she tumbled from the surf board. Salt water rushed at her from all sides, pulling her down, but she paddled up and out to hear Arya’s laughter mixed with the roaring water. She shook her head to force the water from her ears. Ten feet away sunshine sparkled on the water where Arya was perched on her own board. 

“Man you really haven’t learned anything since my last visit,” she whipped her sand-encrusted short brown hair back. “You wanna take a break? Go get some Dory Deli?”

Sansa climbed back on her board, feet kicking at the water to push up and over to straddle it. “You keep surfing, I’m gonna take a break. Chill out in the water for a little.” 

Her sister nodded, “Kay. I’ll probably only hit a couple more. They’re pretty weak today.” She winked and paddled into an oncoming swell. 

“Asshole!” Sansa yelled as her sister matched the wave perfectly riding it out to the shore. 

They had always had a sibling rivalry when they were younger. Age difference aside, Sansa had always wanted to shine and be the utmost example of a Stark girl. Arya had as well, no matter how hard she tried to cover how much she cared with feigned indifference. They soon realized throughout their juvenile competitions that maybe Arya wasn’t cut out for ballet while Sansa wasn’t cut out for fencing. Both were talented and graceful, but they found it best to execute those skills in different sports and activities rather than compete with each other. 

Surfing was Sansa’s current fencing. 

The balance was an issue for sure, a strange problem for an intermediate ballerina. Her height was the reason, something Arya need not worry about at her 5’3 stature. But while Sansa was awful at the art of surfing she still enjoyed it. The tossing waves were calming in their own tumultuous way. There was no rhyme or reason to the ocean and that’s why she liked it. At a young age she had appreciated order and discipline, she still did, but there was something about absolute churning chaos that soothed her soul. 

A habit of hers, that her parents hated, was spending stormy days at the beach until the lifeguards chased her away. The rain pelting against her face always reminded her of her time in her parents’ home though. Robb and Jon’s apartment was great, but quarterly visits from her sister and in turn visiting her parents during holidays was a rare treat, just like the rain. Southern California rarely got that precious gift that Washington had a plethora of. 

She looked behind her at the horizon, not a cloud in sight. Wave after wave crashed against the beach, while the sun sparkled away heating her skin. After three or four good runs and a number of bad ones, Arya paddled back over to Sansa’s spot. 

“You gonna try again or can we go get some food?”

“Let’s go get some food,” Sansa replied with a roll of her eyes. 

“Hey it’s not my fault I’ve been over here working up an appetite while you sit sulking.” 

“Alright, alright! Let’s go eat. You’re right the waves are hella weak.” 

They paddled back to shore and Arya tore at her wet suit, “God I hate this fucking wet suit. Why’s the pacific gotta be so cold?” 

Sansa ignored the rhetorical question and unzipped the top of her wetsuit, leaving the bottom portion on, sleeves hanging limply at her hips. Her feet burned as the water dripped down her legs onto the hot sand underneath her. She hopped onto her towel and flipped her hair to the side to squeeze out the excess water. Arya had completely taken off her suit and was in the process of slipping on her shorts and raggedy Joyce Manor shirt.

While the sand beneath their feet soaked in the sun’s rays, the air around them was far too muggy for an October day. September had just ended, but the ever-present climate change thought came to Sansa’s mind as she considered changing back into her clothes. The wet suit was made of thick material and full of sand, but the heat was so pervasive she didn’t feel like dressing completely. 

Arya shook her hair about and ran her fingers through the short brown and blue tresses, “We’re totally taking the boards back to the car right?”

“Yeah definitely. We’ll take everything back and then we should go get a drink at Fitzgerald’s.” 

“Oh damn someone’s getting turnt tonight. Sansa’s in the house! Ow OOOWW.” Arya’s wolf call earned another eye roll from her sister. “I’ll call Jon and maybe he and Ygritte can meet up. They’re both off right?”

Sansa picked up her board and Arya followed suit after shouldering her backpack. “Yeah, but she’s on call. Granted…that wouldn’t stop her.” 

They both laughed as they proceeded to pick through the sand. Calloused feet allowed them to withstand the burning beach, but other beachgoers were seen hopping back into their sandals subsequently flipping the burning sand back onto their calves. When they got back to her car Arya pulled out her phone, pressed Jon’s contact name and waited for him to pick up. 

“Oy tosser,” she took on an effected Cockney accent. “You and Ygritte. Uber down to Fitzy’s. Right now.” She waited listening to his reply, “Nah I got the Subaru. We all know Sansa wont get shit-faced so we’ve got a DD.”

“Excuse you! I’m the one who suggested Fitzgerald’s!” Sansa interrupted while sliding her surfboard into the back of Arya’s car. She motioned for Arya to pass hers over. Arya shifted the phone over to her other ear and handed the board over to Sansa. She gently scooted it into the car next to hers. 

“Oh dang maybe Ygritte’s gotta be the DD tonight. Or we can always call Robb at the end of the night…No? Oh, but Jon you’re the best to drink with. No!”  
Sansa tossed her crop top on over her bathing suit and slipped on her own pair of shorts. After tying her cardigan around her waist since they’d be out when it got chillier she slipped on her beach TOMS and tossed her other items in the car. After double checking that her ID, debit card, and some cash were tucked into her phone’s wallet case she waited for Arya to get off of the phone. The heat continued to encase them and she could feel her hair beginning to frizz. 

“Okay but how about no to that idea and worst comes to worst No Name stays in this residential neighborhood for the night when we Uber home. Kay?” She groaned listening to Jon's reply. “Oh MY GOD then Ygritte can drive No Name to work. This is not that complicated Jon.” She leaned against the car and huffed when it burned her skin before she jumped back. “Fine. I’ll accept that deal for now. Love you, see you in an hour byeeee.”

She shoved her phone into her pocket and grabbed her sweatshirt out of the car before slamming the door and locking it behind her. “Why is it so damn hot? It’s October for godsake.” 

“Global warming Arya,” Sansa replied matter-of-factly. “They’re both coming in an hour I take it?”

Her sister nodded, “Yeah which is better because then we don’t have to eat at Fitzy’s. Harvey always over-charges me for food.” They set off down the sidewalk leading from the uppity rich neighborhood they’d parked in by the Wedge to head down to the businesses by the pier. 

“Maybe because you always egg on the bar fights and he needs to cover the costs of the ensuing damages?” Sansa muttered. 

“Hey I'm only up here like one a month. Besides I like to think I’m allowing men to let out their repressed gayness for each other in the only way society has deemed acceptable for heterosexual men to settle their issues,” Arya shrugged with a self-satisfied air. 

“I taught you so well.” Sansa beamed looking over to her sister. 

“Not even!” Arya cried and jumped up to grab an orange from someone’s tree that hung over the sidewalk. She began to peel it apart. “That’s second year Women’s Studies for you. Besides I always tune you out when you go on a rant.” She handed Sansa a piece of the stolen citrus. 

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Sansa took the piece and popped it into her mouth. “You just don’t want to admit I taught you something.” 

Arya rolled her eyes, “Whateva whateva.” They continued to walk in silence until the orange was completely gone and Arya was left holding the peels in her hand. 

“How is that going by the way?” Sansa spoke with a light-hearted tone, but a serious demeanor had taken over. “Classes better this semester?”

“They’re fine, nothing special.”

She didn’t let Arya brush her off that easily, “Come on you can talk to me. I know I’m not Jon, but hey…at least I’m not Robb. You can tell me if things get…bad again.”

“Ugh Sansa please!” She tore at the peels in her hands refusing to acknowledge anything else. “I’m not all Hamlet-y sucicdal anymore okay? Things are better. Don’t get all older sister therapist. I have a professional now.”

“Okay okay I’ll back off.” Hands out in surrender she acquiesced to her sister’s discomfort with the conversation. “But you sound like you’re enjoying classes according to Jon.” 

The tiny pieces of orange peels flew into someone’s garden when Arya tossed her hands up. “Blabbermouth’s gonna pay for it,” she muttered darkly. A tiny smile crept across her face and Sansa smiled too. They turned a corner and crossed the street to step into the busy tourist trap of businesses renting out bikes, surreys, and surfboards. They had passed by a shop known for the cheapest Huntington Beach lifeguard sweatshirts before Arya spoke again. “I am enjoying them honestly. I found a good fencing instructor too. Better than the last asshole. And I’m back on track for my degree.”

“That’s all great news! Good for you. Where are you fencing at now?”

“This place on campus, dad actually found it the last time we went to the gym together. It’s like tucked away in the rec center in a little studio. My instructor and I have just been doing one and one, but dad comes and watches most of the time. It’s gotten better I really trust Syrio.” 

Sansa’s smile grew bigger. Syrio already sounded a lot better than the man Arya had gotten tied with when she first started at the university. “Arya that’s fantastic. You’re gonna be all grown up and an adult soon and you’ll be a world class fencing artist.” She dabbed at fake tears and leaned in to hug her sister. 

Arya accepted the hug, but then swatted her away with another groan “You’re the worst. I can still drink you under the table.” 

“Oh we’ll see about that once I get some Dory Deli poke in me.” Sansa rushed down the path dodging the post-season tourists and locals alike. Arya followed after matching her sprint as they laughed and raced.  


8 October 2016 Night 

“Arya that doesn’t work in real life,” Sansa laughed and sipped her second blackberry Moscow Mule. The copper mug was still cold to the touch and helped ease the muggy heat from outside.  
“Oh dear sister, yes it does. You just need the right attitude and the right guy.” 

“This coming from a Women’s Studies major. Tsk, tsk.”

“What are you two arguing about now?” Jon said as he sat down at the raised table on the stool on Sansa’s right while Ygritte gave both of the girls a hug and sat down between Jon and Arya. 

“Sansa doesn’t think guys buy drinks for girls in real life,” Arya beat her sister to the point before she could even defend herself. 

“Oh Sansa, we need to get you out of the hotel more often,” Ygritte said with a sad, but sly smile. 

“Well it’s not like they have chivalrous intentions anyway,” she colored and took another sip to busy herself. “Besides I can buy my own drinks.”

Arya took on a frat dude voice, “Uh until your money runs out which it undoubtedly will because we are getting’ turnt tonight braaah!”

“And you don’t exactly have chivalrous intentions either. You just want the free drink,” Jon shrugged. His interjections were few and far between, but he always had a level-headed response. 

“It’s not like I’m trying to get in their pants though. So many people think it’s obligatory after they buy you a drink.”

“Yeah but that’s in your books and movies. Since you think this doesn’t actually happen in real life,” Arya smirked. 

“And who knows,” Yrgitte shrugged. “After some conversation you may find you want to get in their pants.”

“Hey now,” Jon said with the stereotypical older brother senses kicking in. “I don’t want any more talk of anyone getting into anyone’s pants who’s my sister. No, you know what…I don’t want to hear any more about anyone in anybody else’s pants.”

“New game!” Arya yelled. The bar had gotten crowded in the two hours they had been there. The middle of happy hour rush covered any annoyance of the young girl yelling. “Anytime you make Jon uncomfortable you buy a round of shots.”

Jon grimaced, “That is an awful idea.”

“I think its brilliant and I’m first,” Ygritted pronounced, hopping off of her stool She kissed the temple of Jon’s curly mane and headed to the bar announcing, “Shots of Jameson comin’ right up.” 

“No! Anything, but Jameson,” Sansa groaned with a flashback to her 21st one year prior.

“Too laaate,” Arya sing-songed knowing very well what main image was flashing through Sansa’s head. “It’s okay the toilets here are very clean and Jon can hold your hair this time.” She gave a side-long glance at Jon who grimaced again. “Ha! Score! Fireball it is.” 

She bounced off to follow Ygritte.

“We can still call it a night and go home before any actual madness ensues,” Jon murmured to Sansa with a pleading look. 

She finished off her drink and set it down on the table, “You just don’t want a repeat of Christmas 2013 and your famous Jameson-fueled ‘King of the North’ speech.” 

“It was not Jameson. Remember it was a Greyjoy party so the Jager bombs were to blame,” Jon said with a shudder and then his eyes widened. 

“I don’t think that one counts,” Sansa laughed. “You made yourself uncomfortable. I’ll let you off because I don’t even want to add Jager into the mix tonight.”

“Thank god,” he chuckled and looked over at Arya and Ygritte laughing at the bartender whose attempts to pour both shot requests at the same time had failed miserably. “She’s much better, don’t you think?”

“Definitely, but you know how good she is at feigning that as well. She is tough though and I think she’s coping at least. She said dad’s been going with her off and on to the fencing lessons as well.”

Jon nodded, “They’ve bonded more, which is good. Last year was rough on the both of ‘em.”

They both settled into their own thoughts about the previous year until the two girls came back each carrying two shots in one hand. 

“Since I cannot drink due to being on call,” Ygritte started and Arya and Sansa immediately interjected with boos, “I know I know. I can’t drink so Jon and Sansa get to switch off on my shots. So pick your double poison.” 

“Fireball.”

“Fireball.”

“Ooohhh too bad Sansa, Jon was just a tiny bit quicker,” teased Arya. “It’s okay, Jameson is always fun liquor. Bottoms up girly.”

All three knocked back both shots and then Jon and Sansa clinked their third shots together. 

Jon shook his head, “I haven’t gone out drinking like this in so long. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die at the hands of you two tonight.” He pointedly glared at Arya and Ygritte as none of this was Sansa’s fault. “You’re both as bad as Robb and Greyjoy’s frat buddies.”

“New idea!” Arya yelled again, this time actually receiving looks from the strangers around them. “SoCal Irish Pub Crawl.”

“There are only two within walking distance Arya,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Here and Malarky’s. 

“Ah, ah, ah. There’s also Silky Sullivan’s and Killarny,” Jon added.

“Why are you helping?” hissed Sansa. 

“Because he knows we won’t actually let him die and it’s going to be super fun! It’ll be half a proper pub crawl and we’ll end at The Irishman! We need pints all around!”

Arya hopped away towards the bar and the three looked out after her.

Sansa was mesmerized by her younger sister, “How does she have so much energy all the time? She’s got two pints and three shots in her already.”

“Girl’s got Irish blood in her,” Ygritte shrugged. 

“Uh so do I?” Sansa replied affrontedly. 

“Yeah, but it all went to your hair,” Jon laughed. “Didn’t leave any in your veins for a high alcohol tolerance.”

The night followed similarly throughout the following pubs. Sullivan’s followed Fitzgerald’s, but they only stuck around for the pint as a soccer team was celebrating their win and took up most of the bar with their friends and family. They stopped in Malarky’s, a dim post-hipster dive bar, and while Jon and Ygritte had gotten up to the grab the pints a couple of guys had ambled over to the three girls. 

“Having a girls’ night?” one of them, as tall as Sansa with his curly brown hair pulled up in a man-bun, opened with and set his drink on their table as he sidled up to Sansa. The other hung back a bit. 

“Oh no we’re just-“ Sansa started but Arya cut her off. 

“Yeah we are. You boys having a boys’ night?” 

Sansa looked at her quizzically then it dawned on her. Free drinks. 

“Came to watch the game have a couple of pints.” Man Bun shrugged. “Would you ladies like to join us? I swear you don’t even have to act like you wanna watch the game.” 

His tone alluded to the idea that perhaps women weren’t interested in anything other than magazines and husbands and the stereotypes of the dark ages called the 50’s and it got her heated. These were the first two guys that were going to stop by them in a bar? Arya glanced in her direction trying to read her face, so she masked her feelings. Who knew, maybe she was just reading too much into his sentence. He might have truly thought they had no interest in sports and was just trying to be polite. 

“Well who would want to when it’s the US vs Mexico? They’re just going to get slaughtered,” Sansa’s raised eyebrows only emphasized her annoyance. 

“No American pride?” The horn-rimmed bespeckled friend interjected and placed his drink on their table as well. 

“It’s not a lack of American pride, it’s not wanting to watch a blood bath. You talk as if soccer isn’t one of the least watched sports in America though.” 

Man Bun barked a short laugh, “Um excuse me it’s futbol.” 

Sansa inwardly groaned at the obvious toolish over-exaggerated accent and behavior. 

“You’re kidding me right?” Arya laughed a harsh laugh. 

“It made you laugh though.” He replied with a sideways smile. 

“I am intrigued to know who you actually support?” Horn Rim looked at Sansa. 

“National league-wise? USA and England.” 

“England?! You talk about not wanting to watch USA vs Mexico for being a bloodbath, yet you support England?”

“Look let’s not force the ladies to talk about sports Randy?” Man Bun held up his hands. “Let’s talk about something else.” 

The thoughts about him possibly being polite were gone and she truly wanted Man Bun and this Randy to leave. She looked over at Jon and Ygritte, but they were still waiting to be served. 

“Why wouldn’t we want to talk about sports?” Sansa asked. Obviously she was up for it as she had started the conversation about teams. “Don’t think you’re up to holding a conversation about it?” 

Randy spoke again, “No it just seems like you don’t know anything you’re talking about.”

“Oh lordy,” Arya sighed. “This isn’t going to work out boys.” 

“Aww come on we’re just joking with you.” Man Bun replied and placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder. 

She jerked it away, but laughed, “And that’s fine, but I think my sister and I would prefer to just keep it us girls tonight and not two boys who resort to ‘You don’t know anything you’re talking about.’ If we wanted that we would’ve watched Baratheon talk about Targaryen.” 

“Oh so now you wanna talk politics?” Randy took a sip of his beer. “Now that would be interesting.” 

“Why would it be interesting?” 

“Well you’re obviously going to say you’re voting for Targaryen for her fiscal policies or whatever and you’ll brush aside any talk about her Middle Eastern scandals or her socialist regime she wants to instill and you’ll truly vote for her because she’s got a vagina and SNL does awful skits of Baratheon.” 

“With the bitterness in that tone I’m surprised you didn’t say she’s got a bad pussy,” Sansa replied scathingly, her blood boiling. “If your antique stereotyping of women wasn’t prevalent enough before it sure is now.” She stood up and matched Randy face-to-face. “I hope you boys have a good night.”

Arya followed suit and they headed through the crowd over to Jon and Ygritte. “Okay so those guys were major tools. Man my skeeve radar is off tonight.” 

Sansa shook her head, “I’m telling you Arya. Guys in bars don’t just buy drinks for girls. Girls have to act some stupid way to get a free drink and even then there are a million strings attached.” 

“Sansa you know me. I’m as untrusting of guys as they come, but that’s not always the case! I swear.” Arya looked back at the two who had commandeered their table. “Oh my fucking god. Those guys just wanted our table.” 

The two girls looked at their table and its position to the TV showing the soccer game and burst into laughter. 

“Damn it, we totally got tricked.” 

Ygritte heard their laughter and shifted to let them slide up between herself and Jon, “What happened? I thought you guys were getting a table?” 

“We lost it.” 

“Damn. We onto the next one then?”

Arya gave the bartender a pointed look, “We haven’t gotten our pints yet!” 

“Oy I’m getting them for ya. Calm yourself!” The angry voice of the over-worked bartender came from their left.

“For being such a hipster bar everyone sure seems to be an asshole here,” Sansa murmured lowly. 

“Here they’re on the house,” he said with a slam of the first two drinks before he went back to fill up the other two. “Drink up and get out.” 

Arya shrugged and took a long drink, “I mean I think this counts as a guy buying us drinks Sansa don’t you?” 

“No I do not!” she laughed at her sister. 

“I mean it’s a free round.” Jon shrugged. “Also you get Ygritte’s pint this round.” 

“No! I got the last round.” Her brain went back to the previous bar where she was damn sure she drank Ygritte’s pint and her shot.

“No Sansa Jon got mine last,” Ygritte said. Concern etched in her face when she continued. “You feeling okay? Maybe we should go get some food.” 

“Oh my god I’m fine.” 

“Um yeah we should absolutely go get more food though!” Arya slammed her empty glass on the bar and jumped off of the stool. “Besides Sansa did rip those guys a new one back there so I say she’s fine. Just behind on drinking.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes and downed the pint, wiping the excess foam with the sleeve of her cardigan. “Let’s go get some damn street tacos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank you to those who left kudos and comments. You're fantastic and sweet and an extremely bright ray of positivty that kept this story going on my laptop and in various notebooks.  
> Who the hell knows when Part II will be edited and published because this one was barely edited so I apologize for mistakes. (Let me know if there are glaring edits that need to be made. I'm sloppy. I'm sorry!)  
> Part two exists because what's a SoCal Irish Pub Crawl without one part of the relationship being extremely drunk while the other is completely sober? That's an overplayed trope right? Well I used it even though canonically Sansa's not a big drinker.  
> So sue me.  
> Nah don't do that.  
> Okay I'm done writing a note as long as this chapter.


	3. The SoCal Irish Pub Crawl Part II

9 October 2016

“We can all agree these are the best street tacos in the OC correct?”

“Did you just call it the OC? Who are you?”

“Sorry Ygritte we didn’t all grow up here and have a distinct need to refer to it as Orange County all the time.”

They were walking back to the residential neighborhood where No Name was parked. Ygritte had received the fateful call forcing her to round up the group and their carton of food truck tacos to walk down the length of the beach to the Subaru.

Ygritte scowled and replied mid carne asada bite, “No. People only started calling it the OC because of the stupid show.” She finished chewing. “So then everyone started calling it The OC instead of just saying Orange County. It takes one more syllable. And the OC doesn't make sense. The Orange County. It's not the only Orange County.”

Bon fires dotted the beach to their right all of them taken up like it was still a summer Saturday night.  Not the beginning of October.

Sansa laughed, “Oh so you’re the original OC hipster?”

“The OOCH if you will,” Arya continued. “The Original Orange County Hipster.”

Their victim shook her head. “That’s it. I’m taking you guys home before I head into work.”

“Aww no. We’ve got like one more pub to hit and the crawl is complete!” Arya cried.

“Yeah you can’t ruin that Ygritte! Right Jon?” Sansa turned to implore Jon who was mid-bite.

He thought for a moment as he chewed then turned to Ygritte, “I mean it is only one more pub…”

Yrgitte rolled her eyes, “After I work all night and come home to your hungover asses I don’t want to hear _anything_.”

“Oh we’re far past any point of returning without a hangover so we might as well make it one for the books! Also I realized I have not been Snapping enough tonight. Our last one was discussing vodka vs whiskey right?” Arya passed her last taco onto Sansa to hold who almost dropped it. “Oy don’t lose that.”

“Oy don’t oy me,” Sansa snapped back with a laugh.

A breeze picked up as they neared the last block near No Name’s parking spot. Sansa shivered. The neighborhood was much quieter than the bar scene they would soon be returning to, but the waves still beat on the shore to their right. It never failed to impress her during the day or night. The fact that in the bright daylight you could see no end to the horizon, unless Catalina Island broke the view, and at night you could barely even see where the water met the sand with how dark it was. You could only judge by the sound of waves smacking across the beach. Violent and natural. The darkness reminded her how vast and unexplored the ocean truly was. A shiver ran down her spine, but Arya broke her quiet thinking.

“Ok storytime!” Her phone was pointed in their direction as she began filming herself. “Okay world we’re post-three pubs and many tacos and I am far too sober for this so where are we going Sansa?” She pointed her phone in her sister’s direction.

“To THE IRISHMAN!” She yelled.

“Would you quiet down?” Jon laughed.

“Jon is being a wet blanket per usual,” Arya rolled her eyes and saved the video.

“Oh thank God,” Ygritte said as they finally reached the car. “I never thought I’d be happy to go to work.”

“How rude!” laughed Sansa.

Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes again, “You know you love us.”

Her hand went to her pocket for her keys and she tossed them Ygritte’s way.

“Wait…” Jon started as he looked at the car. “You guys were surfing today?”

“Yeah we told you…Oh no.” Sansa started laughing. “The surf boards.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ygritte sighed.

Arya joined Sansa’s laughter, “Oh my fucking God this is about right. Alright Sansa it’s just like the old days.”

“The old days?” Ygritte asked while unlocking the doors.

Jon began to explain, “They’ve always been the smallest, before Bran and Rickon of course, so they’d always sneak in whenever Robb and I went anywhere-”

“You mean whenever you and Robb would _sneak off_ anywhere,” Sansa interjected. “Don’t make yourself sound more innocent than us.”

“Alright, alright…Point is you two would sneak onto the backseat floor of Robb’s car so we couldn’t see you.” Jon rolled his eyes and walked around to the passenger door. “It’s not like the giggling gave you away or anything.”

Sansa and Arya both assessed their best space option while Ygritte hopped in the front seat and started the car. They both decided cramming themselves into the back under the boards would be better than being smashed in front of them crammed against the front seats. Ygritte popped the trunk and then stepped out to shut it safely behind the girls.

“You two gonna be alright?” she asked warily.

“It’s like five minutes away we’re fiiiinnneee,” Sansa laughed again. She was far more giggly than ever and for how breezy the night had turned she was still sweltering like the sun was out.  Arya’s sobriety was definitely showing though for how many drinks she had consumed.

“Alright, alright to The Irishman we go then.”

* * *

 

The car ride was bumpy and Arya's floor was covered in sand and trash, but thankfully it was quick and Sansa and Arya stumbled out of the trunk laughing at Jon’s singing along to an Adele song.

“You sing with so much passion Jon, but not so much in the right key!” Arya tossed back at him while she and Sansa left him and Ygritte to say good night. “Bye Ygritte have fun at work we’ll send you updates.”

They waved goodbye and walked into the dark bar. People milled around outside of the entrance, but it wasn’t a busy enough this late at night for their bouncer to be present. The bar was full, but a couple of tables were open so Sansa flopped into one as Arya ducked into a space at the bar. Sansa took in the place. Throughout the night she had been so focused on the drinking aspect she hadn’t even given a second glance at most of her surroundings. The sports bar had been full of team flags, she remembered that, but everything else was a blur. That was the one with the asshole soccer guys…she thought maybe. She tried to list their names in her head…Fitzgerald’s, Sullivan’s, Malarky, Killarny…No they hadn’t gone to Killarny! They’d skipped that one to go get tacos.

“Arya!” she laughed as her sister approached her with three shot glasses and three pints. “We skipped a pub.”

Her sister slid into the brown pleather seat next to her and smacked the tray down on the table. Liquid spilled out of the shot glasses and dotted the already sticky table. “We what?”

“We skipped Killarny!”

“Nuh uh we went to that one.” Arya replied. “That was the one with those two douchebags.”

“No we didn’t! That was Malarky.” Sansa looked up to see Jon peering in from the doorway. She waved her hand. “Jon!” He heard her and ambled over hands and sat down. "We didn't do a proper pub crawl Arya!"

“Okay no I'm ignoring you Sansa. Now everyone take your shot and toast to Ygritte.” Arya had her phone in one hand and the shot of her mystery amber liquid.

“What is this one?” Sansa asked warily.

“Jameson obviously. You think I’d toast to Ygritte with anything else?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and murmured, “To Ygritte.”

They clinked glasses and turned them upside down. The liquid burned in a way she never thought she would get used to. Arya quickly finished uploading her video and turned to Jon.

“Pool? Or have you lost your skills standing around doing nothing at the hotel all the time?”

He smirked at her goading smack talk and looked around to see if there was empty table, “Oh while you’ve been away learning about how women are so brilliant at everything?” Sansa rolled her eyes; Jon would never truly believe that. To their right a guy in a plaid shirt followed by a victorious yell from his companions led them to believe a table would be freeing up soon. “Better show us why women are supposed to rule the world or whatever it is you learn in those classes.” The group left and Arya and Jon grabbed their beers and headed over to the pool table that had just been vacated, resuming their smack talk immediately.

Sansa smiled and watched the pair contentedly from her booth seat. She took a sip of her pint and shuddered. Beer never really agreed with her no matter how often Arya tried to make her like it. The alcohol did continue to spread a warmth through her body and she knew if she stood up the dizziness was bound to kick in. Looking around the bar she noticed how much of an eclectic mix it was. Post or pre-clubbers in cocktail dresses and suits, hipsters in Oxfords and corduroy, and even older patrons dotted the bar around her. Her eyes widened when she recognized Varys and Petyr sitting at the bar speaking quietly to one another. She looked down at her phone, 12:45am. It must have been a slow night at Inferno for them to _both_ be out on a Saturday night. Or Cersei had taken control for the night to prove she could, which wasn’t an odd occurrence and she usually had a power trip at least once a month.

She watched Varys laugh, finish the last of his drink, and then proceed to walk out the door leaving Petyr by himself. The idea of going over to at least say hi to Petyr crossed her mind, but her stomach twisted at the idea. Gift shop discussions were one thing, sidling up next to her soon-to-be-boss at a bar was a completely different ballgame altogether. The environment wasn’t controlled by either of them in this case. The gift shop was her territory within his domain that was the hotel as a whole. The Irishman…was mutual chaos.

Sansa turned away before she was caught staring and looked back at Arya and Jon who were doing fairly well at inebriated pool. If they were attempting to _not_ get the balls in any of the pockets that is.  The two each lined up their shots with the matching serious expressions, but their motor coordination was severely impaired after visiting four pubs and only having the one intermission for street tacos. Whatever sobriety Arya and Jon had both been exhibiting moments earlier was definitely gone now with that last shot of Jameson. Sansa glanced back at the bar where Petyr motioned for another drink. She took a breath and decided if he was still there after a trip to the restroom she would go say hello. At the least. It would be awkward to ignore him completely.

The initial dizziness wasn’t nearly as bad as she expected and she powered through it to the short line at the bathroom. That was always the plus side of dive bars, less people- less bathroom wait time. Malarky’s and Sullivan’s bathroom lines had been ridiculously long. She looked at her face in the mirror when she was done, but couldn’t stop focusing on anything besides how wide her eyes were as she tried to focus. Her cardigan was rumpled and her old worn out crop top stretched low.  Sand still coated strands of her wavy hair which was extremely frizzy thanks to the southern Californian humidity that no Santa Ana breeze could completely eradicate. She ran her fingers across the top of her hair to flatten it then stopped herself. There was no reason for her to care how she looked for him. He was just her boss. Not even that yet. Her soon-to-be-boss, she reminded herself. As she exited the door she ran her fingers through her hair one time… she didn’t need to look like a _complete_ drunk beach bum. He was going to be her boss at a place where appearance was everything after all.

Her stomach twisted when she turned the corner though; his bar stool was empty. The anticipation was all for naught. She retreated to the pool table to watch Jon and Arya attempt to sober each other up.

“Sansa you’re back. We were worried. Ygritte is also worried because she keeps texting Jon.” She gestured to their brother who was typing on his phone. “I think she’s worried that the last Snap I posted was when we were in the back of the trunk. And that was back when she was still with us…I think. Wait I thought I posted one of us toasting to her?”

“She says she didn’t get that one,” Jon replied and held out his phone. “See right there. Didn’t get it. That grey message.” He repeatedly pointed at the last message. Sansa could see his texts were a mess of incoherent spellings and autocorrect and realized he and Arya had to be great actors or she was truly too far gone to see how not sober they were before.

“Then let’s do another one!” Sansa laughed.

“Okay okay,” Arya pulled up the app on her phone and turned the camera to them. She tilted her head towards Sansa’s and rapidly spoke, “Sansa, if you could say one thing to the world what would it be?”

But Sansa had caught sight of someone smiling in the booth in the background who had slightly curly hair with hints of grey at the temples. “Uh…uh… Jäger!”She spluttered attempting to gain her original witty coherent thought back.

“No!” Jon exclaimed looking up from his phone.

“Wait did it catch Jon?” Arya said and played back the video wherein Sansa could plainly see Petyr and his Cheshire grin in the background and Jon’s refusal to Jäger was loud and clear. “Oh my god it did! Yes. Best video of the night.”

“I’ll be back. I just saw someone I know. I’m gonna go say… hi.” Sansa walked away from Arya who was intent on posting the video to her story. She smiled when she caught eyes with Petyr and slid across from him in the booth. “I do believe I was sitting here earlier.”

“Well that was earlier. I too was sitting somewhere else earlier, but you already knew that didn’t you?”

She blushed, “I was going to say hi, but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you and Varys were discussing. How did the two of you manage to get away from Inferno on a Saturday night?”

“Oh you know, Cersei on a power trip since the hotel was conveniently only at 30% occupancy.”

“Ouch that’s awful. There wasn’t an influx of outsiders just for the bar?”

He shook his head. “It’s the change in music honestly. Orange County socialites may only want to _see_ other white Orange County socialites, but they don’t want to _hear_ the DJ playing white artists only. Ever since Cersei cut out hip hop the crowds have all but disappeared. But the fault is obviously blamed on Varys and myself.” He took a sip of his drink. “Enough about my night, I take it your night has been an enjoyable one?” He gestured in the direction of Arya and Jon who had begun shooting pool again. Sort of.

“It has,” she smiled. “A very memorable one. Hopefully. If not I think there are plenty of incriminating photos and videos.”

“Ah see, that’s what’s wrong with your generation. You want to revel in the aftermath, not the moment itself.”

She scoffed, “What does that even mean? That we’re all supposed to be stoned, holding up our lighters at a concert instead of photographing the moment?”

“You’re not living in the moment when you photograph or even video it,” he replied and twisted his drink around without taking his eyes off of her. “I mean do you go and look back at that awful quality video and revel in the experience all over again? You’re taking a picture of the most photographed barn in the world just to say you took a picture of it. The moment isn’t _seeing_ the most photographed barn in the world anymore, it’s the act of taking the photograph to show everyone else you were there to take the photo.”

“Of _course_ you’d throw a DeLillo reference at me.” Sansa rolled her eyes, but something seemed off about his quote. She set the thought aside because he irked her so much. “I hate that passage.”

“Why? Because it’s an accurate portrayal of your daily life as a millennial?”

“Not even! I hate it because it is way too cynical and doesn’t allow for the acceptance of technology. It’s the same ideology of all of the older generations towards any new revolutionizing invention. It’s…it’s…” she was losing her train of thought. 

He smiled with a smidge of patronizing attitude attached, “You’re not exactly on your A game tonight are you?”

“No I’m not,” she replied petulantly. “I’ve had a few more drinks than I normally would tonight to prove a point, which is throwing all of your ‘lessons’” she held up mocking air quotes, “out the door for the evening. So I’m sure you’ll walk away from this discussion as the victor for once.”

“’For once?’” he matched her air quotes with a grin of his own. “Is that meant to imply that you’ve been the winner in the past because if so…” he scrunched his face up and shook his head sadly.

“I think you are very quick to judge, much like any older generation.  In fact there was a TED Talk about this! About how…” she drifted off in thought for a second. “Well no it was more about how the concept of generations is a made up term meant to alienate each age group…” Her head tilted down into her hands, “and I have honestly lost my train of thought.”

“I don’t blame you. Sounds like a boring TED Talk. Like all TED Talks,” he laughed, but even her inebriated, disjointed mind could see how closely he paid attention to her rambling.

The weight of her head tilted to one hand and she pointed the other at him. “That’s a lie and you know you have the TED Talk app on your phone right between Fox News and Tinder.”

“That’s one very defining argument for generations existing. I do not rely on Tinder for dating.”

“Well it’s not for _dating_ Petyr,” she threw his trademark smirk back at him. His statement did get her thinking about what his dating life was like, but held back on delving too personal. “And that _definitely_ wasn’t a _no to_ you having any of those three.”

He rolled his eyes, “I don’t even have a smart phone. I am an age old relic remember?”

“As if I believe that for one minute.  You are a savvy business man and club proprietor. You have an iPhone.” With a smile at her victory she leaned in to say something that, afterwards, she blamed on the sixth shot of Fireball. “Let me see your phone. Prove me wrong,”

The line between executive and shop girl was there and she had just done a triple jump across it. The impropriety of their acquaintanceship didn’t seem to faze him though.

“Oh that’s never going to happen.” He looked at her incredulously.

“Don’t worry I won’t look at your dirty pictures or your sexts. I just want to see your apps to prove I’m right.”

Petyr shook his head. “You’re not right.”

“He said as he kept his phone in his pocket. Or do you really not want me to see your background photo that’s just stacks on stacks of money.” She refrained from adding ‘cocaine’ as the qualifying adjective for said money. The image of the little packets of white contraband that dotted Inferno’s VIP lounge and the one tucked in her room still fresh in her mind.

Green-grey eyes locked with blue and then looked down at her outstretched hand midway to his side of the table. Her pint still sat barely touched next to the empty shot glasses. After a second of thinking he placed his phone in her open palm. Her fingers locked around it, but he tightened his grip, “Apps. Only.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “I’m not a snooper when it comes to the camera roll. You’re safe.” He released the silver iPhone into her control completely. “Of course you have the 7. Lose your headphones yet? Or did you buy the attachment?”

“People dislike pragmatic business maneuvers because of the dramatic change it brings to their lives.”

“Pragmatic?” she scoffed, but dropped the argument as she pressed the home button and the screen lit up on a background of cream marble with brown streaks interspersed. “Boring, I expected better.” She reached for her beer and sipped it, concentrating on not grimacing at the taste in front of Petyr.

“I’ll be sure to change it to strippers and Benjamins the next chance I get.”

“See that’s all I ask, seems more appropriate.”

“Not _all_ of the rumors are true Sansa,” he murmured with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

She disregarded the comment and all of the murky thoughts in her head telling her to stop flirting with her doubly dangerous, mysterious boss and slid her finger across his screen. It immediately opened to his main home screen, “Very trusting not to have a passcode. You must not have anything of importance here.” He shrugged. She scanned the view in her hand and erupted in giggles. “Oh god you’re one of _those_ people.”

“Pardon me?” He questioned incredulously.

“You categorize all of your apps instead of just having them all spread out.”

“I’m sorry that I like organization.”

She laughed, “No you just like control.”

“Well don’t you just have me pegged?” he shifted in his seat. “And how do you categorize your apps?”

“I don’t. Here,” she set his phone down to reach for her own and slid it across the sticky table. “See for yourself.” He glanced down at her phone, but didn’t reach for it. He took another sip of his drink instead.  “Okay, or not. Back to the business at hand…Your main four…We’ve got texts, email, the news app, and stocks…Of _course_ you would be the only person in the world who has the stocks app where you can always access it because you are the only person in the world who _uses_ it.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world.” He smiled and picked up her phone to look at it. “Wallet case is about right.”

“I don’t like carrying a purse with me all the time so what?” she replied defensively. “If women’s clothing only had pockets as big as men’s…”

“I’m not judging, just noting. It’s practical Sansa.” He tossed her phone up and caught it. “Practical for thieves to swipe your credit card information.”

She hated when anyone tossed their phone in the air, let alone one that wasn’t their own. She watched his hands though and knew there was no way he’d drop it. He tossed it again and raised an eyebrow in her direction, testing her.

“You’re distracting me. Don’t toss what isn’t yours,” she scolded and went back to his phone. “Alright what are these labels? ‘Hotel,’ ugh boring. ‘News,’ ah, I do spy the FOX News app, but you also have Al Jazeera, CNN, _The Washington Post_ , NPR…Holy crap you have a lot of news apps.”

He shrugged, “Have to keep up to date with every bias out there. Speaking of, did you see the rigged Town Hall debate?”

“NOPE,” she stopped him. “We’re not debating politics tonight. Or about how he insists that the Wall is still staying up and that Canada will pay for the upkeep even though Prime Minister Mormont insists they will not. Or how he obviously _failed_ extremely hard and then his brother had to try and pick up the pieces at a debate that no one watched because no one watches the VP debates." She took a breath, her mind catching up with her mouth. "We're not debating tonight. Okay Fox News...so one app checked off my list. Now onto TED and Tinder.”

“Which you will not find on my phone.” He pressed his thumb against the home button of her phone. “A celebrity background?” The smirk was the most pronounced she’d seen it all night. “Jon Stewart of all people? Is  _The Daily Show_ your other alternative to HBO for political news? Be honest, how sad were you when he left?"

Her face warmed and she felt her blush travel down to her chest, but she continued to look at his phone instead.

“Ah but you are not very trusting. Passcode?” With the phone held out she pressed her thumb on it and he turned it back to him. “Family on the inside. How darling.”

The bitter tone was hard for her to understand, but a section on his phone caught her eye so she addressed that instead, “I’m sorry ‘Girls?’ OH MY GOD you do have a Tinder! You’re such a liar!”

Petyr’s face lit up and he laughed, “You caught me, but that’s for business. You’ll notice my camera roll is in there as well.”

“Hey you don’t need to explain your life to me. I just thought you couldn’t be any skeevier than having the Fox News app.”

“Says the girl with Instagram in her top four.”

“I’m vain, not skeevy.”

“Alright I’ll try to make sense of the madness that is _your_ phone. Phone, texts, join Instagram and music. News is at the top with contacts and camera…Immovable preloaded ones are all grouped together like an organized person. Then in a scattered millennial mess you have SnapChat, Starbucks, NPR- I’m quite proud of you for that one- Venmo, Uber, Chase, TimerCam, VSCO, PhotoEdit, SquareReady, and… Terminology? Quite an interesting app to have.”

“For class,” she shrugged. His phone had been long forgotten as he picked apart her life. “It’s just a dictionary.”

“But you also have the OED?”

“It gives me the etymology!”

“Such a good student,” he praised mockingly.

“You have the _stocks_ app in your top four. You cannot mock me about scholarly apps.”

“Sansa you talking to mustache man is making Jon uncomfortable so you have to buy the last round of shots!”

They both turned to Arya who waved from the pool tables. Jon stared at Petyr with darkened sober eyes. Sansa was coldly reminded of where she was and who she was with before she decided to play it off with a high laugh.

“We have a thing going tonight where anytime we make Jon uncomfortable we have to buy the round of shots.”

Petyr smirked, “I take it you talking to me is number one on the most uncomfortable he’s been?”

“Hmmm,” her finger tapped against her chin in uffish thought, “probably number two. We talked about strangers getting into our pants.” She paused. “Okay wait that was a little too much information. If you’ll excuse me I need to go buy one last round before the bar closes.”

“No no,” he stood up quicker than she could slide out of the booth. “Allow me. I’m afraid it’s my fault so I’ll be the one to cover it.”

“Oh my god Petyr no. Arya’s just ten times more annoying when she’s had some drinks in her system. Don’t take her seriously.” She slid out of the booth and started walking over to the bar. “I got this.”

“No I do. It’s the least I can do for the pleasant conversation you’ve supplied tonight.” They both approached the bar, which had emptied quite a bit during their back and forth in their booth, and sat down at the stools, but he already had a bill in his hands, “Three shots of Jager.”

“No! You can’t buy them.” She searched her pockets for her phone and then remembered. “Give me my phone back!”

“Hmmm the problems of keeping your card with your phone.” A smiled flashed across his lips and he turned back to her phone seemingly ignoring her as he tapped away. “Sansa just allow me to buy you and your siblings some shots to end your night.”

“Fine,” she replied with the crossing of her arms. “You have to buy one for yourself then or give me my card back so I can.”

“Oh I am not putting Jager in my body. I’m not in my 20’s anymore.”

Sansa held out her hand for her card and he gave it to her, but kept the phone. “What’s your liver killer then?”

“That’s quite a personal question.”

“You’re about to get some whipped cream vodka with that attitude.”

“Whipped cream vodka? A place like this wouldn’t have anything like that.”

Sansa turned to the bartender they had been ignoring since Petyr had given him the cash, “Well?”

“We have Cake UV,” he shrugged.

“Done. Two shots of that please.”

“Miss Stark I think you will be the early death of me.”

A wide smile took over her face. “Mr. Baelish,” she watched the bartender place the two clear shots between them and took one to hold up, “bottoms up.”

Before he could even lift his to clink with hers she tossed her own back and shuddered. He smirked and then tossed his back before violently coughing. “God what _is_ that shit?”

Sansa laughed again, “That is 21st birthday alcohol.”

“The things you young ones do to your bodies.”

“Get out of here with that. You’re from the time of Woodstock and rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Yes at the tender age of one I was heavily partaking in the music and drugs of Woodstock.”

A thought popped into her head like a shooting star of clarity. “America not the world!”

“Care to elaborate?” He questioned slowly with widened eyes.

“You misquoted DeLillo! It’s the most photographed barn in America not the world!”

Silence took over for a moment while he tried to understand with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow then he laughed. His eyes lit up and his head tilted back and he laughed a true and hearty laugh and she joined him as well. His true laughter was nothing like the cold chuckles she’s used to and her body shook as she leaned forward to balance herself with a hand on his knee.

“Oh Sansa you are absolutely ridiculous, but I suppose you win this one tonight,” he replied when he could finally check his emotions.

With her hand on his knee she looked up at him, braid in disarray, one sleeve of her cardigan in the process of slipping down to her elbow, “But the real question is if you think Baratheon is going to win.”

A sigh escaped his lips before he placed his hand on hers, “Oh Sansa. He’s going to win by a landslide.”

Sansa jerked up, “Not even!”

“I mean he’s getting my vote. Did you see that last debate?”

“Petyr stop. Now I know you’re being facetious. She raked him over the coals and he just sat there acting like he wasn’t burning alive.”

Petyr shrugged.

“Sansa! We’re leaving!”

She closed her eyes briefly, refusing to look in the direction of her siblings who were ruining everything.

“I think that’s our last call,” Petyr chuckled. He set her phone down next to her arm on the bar. “I’m sorry to say we’ll have to continue this conversation back at work.”

She pocketed her phone and stood up from the bar stool turning towards her sister who was being supported by Jon. “I’ll join you outside in a minute.”  

Jon shook his head.

“I don’t think Jon’s cool with that idea!” Arya yelled back.

The Irishman had cleared out at the late hour and the few people left were starting to look between the two couples. Sansa blushed and cursed quietly.

“Go on. Go join them. Arya looks a little worse for wear and Jon looks like he might try to murder me the next time we’re in a room together.” Petyr smirked in Jon’s direction and Sansa knew it was time to go before he did truly act on that murderous look.

“Good night Petyr. Targeryan’s going to win.”

A smile graced his lips as he stayed seated at the bar. “We’ll see about that Sansa. Good night.”

Sansa walked over to help Jon with Arya glancing back at Petyr who had already turned his attention back to his phone. She swallowed the lump in he throat and walked into the cold air.

 

* * *

 

“Jon you’re too old for this shit. Those two back there,” Robb gestured to the sisters in the back seat, “I understand. But you’re 28 Jon. You can’t go on pub crawls anymore.”

Sansa cursed herself for leaving Arya and Jon. If she hadn’t gone over to Petyr she wouldn’t have left them alone. If she hadn’t left them alone they wouldn’t have decided that calling Robb was a better idea than calling an Uber. She also wouldn’t have the empty feeling in her stomach from the glance back at a man who didn’t spare her a second glance once their conversation was done.

“Not my fault I still want to spend time with them and you don’t,” Jon snapped back.

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Eh it kind of is Robb,” Sansa spoke up. Her sadness and irritation channeled into anger towards Robb. “Besides Jon spent years, that _you_ spent partying, in the military so I think he deserves some slack. Don’t be ageist. It’s not like we trashed a bathroom and lied to the police about it.”

Robb glanced back in the rearview mirror, “Low blow Sansa. I’m not that guy anymore.”

“Yeah we know. You’ve grown up and you’re trying to force us to grow up with you.”

“I’m just trying to give you advice I should have listened to when I was—“ Robb started.

“I think my favorite part about tonight,” Arya cut him off. “Is that we attempted to get guys our age to buy us drinks and Sansa ended up getting someone twice her age to buy her a round of shots.” She yelled, before once again laughing uproariously about it.

“Wait what? Who did that?” Robb asked.

Jon broke his sullen silence to glower. “Yeah Sansa, tell Robb who bought you the drinks.”

She looked out the window. “Just someone I know who works at the hotel. It’s not a big deal.”

Robb didn’t buy it. “What’s his name?”

“Petyr Baelish.”

Robb slammed the breaks and everyone’s seat belts choked them out as their bodies flew forward.

“Oh my god Robb that was such an over-reaction!” Arya yelled and leaned back against her seat. “Also you need to pull over right now or your Audi’s fine leather backseat is going to have an upchuck coat.”

Robb pulled over into a parking lot off of PCH and parked the car. Arya bolted out and proceeded to throw up two parking spaces over on the blacktop. Jon unbuckled his seat belt and told Robb to pop the trunk. He stepped out, dug through Robb’s emergency supplies, then grabbed a bottle of water and a package of Wet Wipes before going to sit next to Arya to wait out her vomit session.

Robb turned around to face Sansa, “Littlefinger? You let that guy buy you drinks? You know who he is. You’ve heard the stories Sansa! You can’t get close to a creep like him!”

“They’re just unfounded stories. There’s always hotel gossip and he’s a closed-off person so of course people are going to tell heinous stories about him Robb. What’s even realistic about any of the claims?

“Oh so the Inferno Girls aren’t prostitutes and he and the bartenders don’t sell cocaine on the side?”

She grimaced, “You don’t know that that’s true, there’s no proof.” _Except for the cocaine in my bookcase and the overflowing cocaine on Fridays and Saturdays_.

Robb stared at her, “You forget that I worked at that hotel too. I’ve seen my fair share of proof.” His eyes softened, “You can’t trust Littlefinger. He came from a sketchy past on the east coast as well and you know the Lannisters didn’t care and just covered it up for him.”

“You guys are overreacting. It wasn’t even a big deal I’m not even like…friends with him? He just bought the last round of shots because Arya was being embarrassing and he was being kind. He’s always kind to me and we talk about politics and stuff. He’s the one who got me the raise and the job in Inferno.” She shrugged and held her hands up. Her head was aching per usual due to Robb’s nagging, but amplified by the large amounts of alcohol in her system. “I swear it’s not something to be worried about.”

“Promise me you won’t trust him or get close to him Sansa,” Robb pleaded.

“He’s my manager now so I kind of have to,” she countered.

“No that’s the very reason you _shouldn’t,_ that guy would fuck you over in a heartbeat if it meant a profit for him directly.”

Sansa sighed, “You can quit with the lecture Robb.”

She looked out the window to where Jon was helping  Arya clean herself up. Her head pounded and she just wanted to go home, drink a giant glass of water, and sleep off the hot mess this night had turned out to be.

“Sansa one day you’re going to wish you had listened to me straight away about Petyr Baelish. There are some things that go deeper than his dealings at the hotel.” Robb warned before their siblings opened the doors and crawled into his Audi.

“Okay I’m good now. Sansa,” Arya sighed and let her head fall on her sister’s shoulder, “it pains me to say this, but you out-drank and _held_ that drink better than me tonight. For once. Congratulations. I blame the tacos. The best damn tacos in The OC. I mean… The Orange County. Oh wait Ygritte’s not here. Best damn tacos in The OC.”

Sansa patted her sister’s head, but no one replied to Arya’s statement and Robb drove them back to the apartment in complete silence. The empty streets allowed him to easily speed home, light posts dotting the sidewalks that flashed by in seconds. Sansa attempted to count them, but grew sicker. Robb’s warning stuck in her mind, the rumor about Petyr’s- no _Littlefinger’s_ less than savory acts committed within the confines of the hotel and outside before he ever joined the executive staff. Not all of it could be completely true though. Why would he ever lie to her?


	4. Sunglasses and Advil

9 October 2016

Morning

_I am not throwin’ away my shot. I am not throwin’ away my shot. And I am just like my country-_

Sansa rolled to the right and smacked where her nightstand was supposed to be. But instead she hit someone else’s body and the blasting music continued.

_Imma get a scholarship to King’s College. I probably shouldn’t brag but-_

Her hand found her phone within the pile of blankets she was wrapped in and blindly hit the touchscreen repeatedly until her thumb hit the snooze button and Lin-Manuel Miranda quit singing.

A groan emitted from the person next to her.

“I need water.”

Sandpaper seemed to cover the entirety of her mouth when Sansa croaked, “Me too.”

With a pounding head and burning eyes that felt glued shut she forced them open to look at her surroundings. They were not in Sansa’s room at all, but lying on couch cushions in the living room.

“Why didn’t we make it to my room last night?”

“Damned if I know.” Arya groaned again. “Sansa I will clean every inch of this apartment today if you get me water.”

“Today?” she replied skeptically, her tongue sticking to the roof of her dry mouth for a moment.

Arya thought for a moment. “Okay maybe tomorrow. I don’t think I can do anything today.”

“That sounds more like it,” her sister murmured. The blinds were closed, but the sun had still warmed up the living room of the west-facing second floor apartment. A room that was in complete disarray with the couch cushions and blankets strewn all over the floor in what seemed like an awful attempt at a- “Why did we try to make a fort?”

Sansa’s question was met with silence so she figured now was the time to get water. With her head pounding, just at the thought of standing up, she forced her body into a sitting position. The head rush wasn’t nearly as bad as the churning in her stomach and -not for the first time in her life- she questioned why she ever drank in the first place. But the nausea was manageable as it always was. The walk to the refrigerator wasn’t a long one- that might have been the reason why they hadn’t made it to her room- she opened it and, after bending down too quickly to grab water bottles, immediately stood back up to hold herself over the sink. The nauseating churning in her stomach threatening to force up any bit of carne asada tacos that were still in her system.

 _Hamilton_ blared from her phone again while she leaned against the counter trying to remember why she thought water was worth this feeling. Arya groaned again, but the music stopped.

“Sansa why do you have a stripper on your phone?” she asked disdainfully.

“What?” she murmured back not completely understanding the question.

“Why is your background a girl wrapped around a stripper pole?”

Sansa took a breath, grabbed the bottles of water, and made her way back to the collapsed fort. “What are you talking about? It’s Jon Stewart.”

“No. Jon Stewart is not a female stripper.”

She flopped down onto their makeshift bed of couch cushions and passed a bottle of water to Arya who exchanged it for the phone. Her background was indeed a woman in a g-string with her legs wrapped around a pole and Sansa laughed out loud. Petyr truly had taken advantage of her distracted state.

“That bastard,” she said with a smile. With her thumb on the home button it opened to a neatly categorized selection of apps with another background edition of a stack of hundred dollar bills. She looked at the titles of her newly organized apps. “DeLillo’s Nightmare” held her photo editing and social media. “Things I Can’t Get Rid Of” now held what she believed were her necessities instead of the preloaded apps. “News” only held a newly added Fox News app while “Fake News” held NPR and a couple of other newly downloaded news apps she was sure she’d seen on his phone. “Necessities” held all of the preloaded apps she couldn’t get rid of. Finally the pièce de résistance of Petyr’s mischievous moments with her phone was the stocks app as her only bottom app to be accessed at all times. She opened up “Communication” to get into her texts where a white four was showing within the red notification circle.

One from her dad that she skipped for the moment.

Two from Margaery asking to meet up for brunch at some point during the week.

And the fourth from a new number she didn’t have saved.

A simple smirking emoji.

He had an emoji keyboard downloaded?

“Are you going to quit smiling at your phone and tell me why your background’s a stripper or not?” Arya said smashing her empty water bottle up into a tiny accordion of plastic.

Sansa took a long drink from her own bottle. “It was a prank.”

“Ew ew. It was skeevstache wasn’t it? Sansa don’t get all smiley over skeevestache making your background into a STRIPPER photo.” Arya took her phone from her and pressed the lock button. “Hmm I’m not surprised she’s a red head.”

The woman was a red head, but Sansa dismissed it. “It’s a joke because I took his phone last night and said I was surprised it wasn’t strippers and money. So he changed mine to just that.”

“Oh god Sansa, I think I’m going to vomit again.”

A door opened down the hall to their left and they both looked up to see Jon ambling out of his bedroom. He tossed a “Good morning” at them before heading to the bathroom he and Sansa shared.

“Well Jon’s alive that’s good,” Arya sighed. Sansa was still looking at the text attempting to think of a good reply. “Oh please stop. Can you call _my_ phone?”

Sansa decided that she’d leave the reply for later when her sister wasn’t judging over her shoulder.

* * *

13 October 2016

The sun was already setting when Sansa slammed her breaks before hitting the car immediately in front of her. 5 o’clock California traffic held no mercy for those who were late to their destinations. The 5 freeway never showed any love for her, especially when she was trying to rush from class to her first day as a server. It was in these moments she regretted her twenty minute commute that could easily turn into an hour in the right conditions. A wreck that covered the two left lanes was making her wince at the digital clock on her dashboard.

She glanced in her contacts and picked “H(ot)ELL” before looking up to see the car in front of her moving again. Her phone’s Bluetooth connected to the car and she set it to the side as ringing filled her speakers.

“Thank you for calling The King’s Landing Hotel. My name is Ygritte how may I direct your call?”

“Hey Ygritte it’s Sansa. Could you connect me to the restaurant?”

“Oh hey for sure! Everything okay?”

“Just in traffic and Varys is going to have my head for being late to my first shift as a hostess,” Sansa sighed.

Ygritte’s laugh resounded, “Well at least it’s Baelish tonight. Varys got called into a meeting over at Casterly so Baelish stayed all day.”

“Casterly and Varys? But Baelish is the exec?”

“Yeah for accounting, not the food and beverage; it’s something about opening a new lounge over there for the businessmen… Crap someone else is calling and Talisa’s busy. I’ll connect you right now.”

Ygritte cut out and the hotel’s crappy hold muzak replaced her instead. Sansa ruminated over the idea of the second, less seedy Lannister hotel getting a lounge. If it was anything like Inferno, normal business bar lounge by weekday and Las Vegas club by weekend, it would change the reputation of Casterly Rock…significantly.

“Hello thank you for calling The Iron Grill. My name is Sera how may I help you?”

“Hey it’s Sansa.”

Sera’s customer service voice dropped. “Oh hey what’s up?”

“I know you’ve been hosting for eight hours, but I’m stuck in traffic and I honestly don’t know when I’ll be there.” She glanced at her dashboard clock and then the parking lot of cars in front of her. “Maybe like fifteen minutes? If I’m lucky. Like thirty at the worst.”

“Oh my god don’t even worry about it! I understand completely. It’s been pretty dead here anyway.”

“Seriously?

“Yeah that big convention went home and our occupancy’s at like 30% again.”

“Christ,” Sansa grimaced. A long night was in her near future.

“Right? The servers are hella pissed. Baelish hasn’t even come out of his office for like the past three hours. Oh by the way he’ll be here all night training you on hosting and serving. Varys got called over to Casterly.”

“Yeah PBX let me know that. Has he been pissed all day then?”

Sera laughed, “Well pissed would be an understatement honestly.”

“Fantastic.”

“You’ll be fine. I think…Oops a guest’s coming my way. I’ll see you whenever you get in.”

Three beeps signified the call being dropped. The car in front of her slammed its breaks again and she sighed as she pressed her own.

* * *

Red hair was piled into a high ponytail, eye shadow graced her eyes in a haphazardly applied subtle smoky eye, and she had just swiped a light gloss across her lips in the kitchen as she rushed out to the hostess stand with an endless string of apologies.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry.”

Of course Sera wasn’t alone. Out of all of Sansa’s bad luck she figured, in that moment, she must have been paying for any time she cheated on a simple test or didn’t pick up a piece of trash off of the beach when she was younger to earn the look Cersei was giving her. Sera stood sullenly beside her.  

“Well look who finally decided to show up?”

“I know it’s no excuse, but the 5 was a mess-” she started, but Cersei held up a hand. She had very few dealings with the General Manager of The King’s Landing, but they’d never been enjoyable.

“Well you see you actually _are_ trying to make it an excuse. Whether it’s valid or not doesn’t matter to me. What matters,” she paused for what Sansa thought was a ridiculous dramatic effect, “is that you are _late_. And you’re out of uniform.”

She glanced down at the tight black dress she was wearing, “This is the one that the Laundry department gave me.”

“It’s the wrong dress for a week night. You’re hosting at a respectable restaurant tonight. Not _selling yourself_ in Inferno.” Cersei spat.

Sansa blanched. “I’m sorry I don’t understand.” She glanced over at Sera for help, but the hostess continued to look down at her feet.

Cersei grinned. “Did Baelish not tell you the full extent of your job duties as a future Inferno server?” The truth of it was that he hadn’t. He’d guilted her into the supposed promotion and then dealt with Brienne regarding her department transfer himself. All she’d had to do was get her new uniform and show up on time. Which neither seemed to be happening.

Her silence was all the answer Cersei needed. “Well I hope you’re not in over your head. What with starting late on your first day and showing up in the wrong attire, makeup that looks like you applied it in the kitchen…Clock out, get that mess off of your face, get your correct uniform, and clock back in when you’ve applied a respectable amount. If Baelish thinks moving up another pretty face is going to stand he’s got another thing coming.”

Sansa’s face paled as Cersei berated her. While the woman had never been pleasant, Sansa’s previous job title had never warranted as much attention as Cersei was giving her in the span of one minute. Instead of waiting for more chastising Sansa turned and calmly walked back into the kitchen, then picked up the pace when the tears started streaming down her face. The immediate attack on her appearance and lateness after stressing in traffic for an hour about those very things was too much. Combined with the fact that Petyr had tossed her to lions by not giving her any idea of what she was actually getting herself into.

 _Selling yourself?_ She tried to pass by the Room Service quarters of the kitchen, but the coordinator and servers saw her red face and smeared mascara.

Harry stepped out from the office, “Woah Sansa what’s happened?”

She shook her head, “Nothing. I just need to get downstairs.”

Jojen stepped away from his sister by the coffee machines, “Was it Cersei?”

“Ugh did she comment on your makeup?” Meera groaned. “She is such an _asshole_ about the makeup for the restaurant girls.”

Sansa took a breath, “I just have to get downstairs I’m already late and I just-” She dashed down the back hall to the main service elevators and pressed the down button. The tears still streamed and she tried to breathe deeply to stem the flow, but she just hiccupped a gasp as she watched the numbers above the elevator go down.

 _25, 24, 23, 22_.

The counting helped more than anything. She could do this. There was a reason she wanted to move within the hotel. One tiff with Cersei wouldn’t ruin her future, there was no reason to keep crying. This was just a small blip in her life. It wasn’t even a blip in her life, just her time at this hotel.

_14, 12, 11,10._

A breath in and a breath out, Sansa wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, black smearing on her palm. She laughed.

“I didn’t even want to do this stupid job in the first place.”  

The idea to walk out now crossed her mind, but the follow up image of her parents completely supporting her again –even for just a brief moment while she looked for another job –didn’t sit well with her. An awful manager was no reason to quit on the spot. Cersei wasn’t even her actual manager. Petyr was.

Petyr who hadn’t met her during her first training shift.

Petyr who was currently holed up in his office while Varys conducted mysterious meetings at Casterly.

Petyr who hadn’t actually mentioned anything about what her job description was besides being a server of food and beverage.

Petyr who she had gotten drunk in front of and who she had never replied to because she chickened out when she couldn’t think of a witty enough reply.

 _4, 3, 2, L_.

The doors dinged open and she stepped inside, pushing her index finer against the B button. The doors slid closed and she leaned against the back of the elevator compartment, her black dress tightening even more against her stomach as she went down. She’d need to go to Laundry and get whatever dress the weekday needed. She’d fix her makeup and then go upstairs and face Cersei again with the best attitude and acting she could muster.

* * *

The weekday dress was far looser, flowing at the knees instead of clinging to her thighs like the weekend dress, but what it lacked in cling it made up for in cleavage. _A respectable restaurant my ass_. With a fresh face consisting of cover up and mascara she emerged from the kitchen towards the hostess stand again. Sera was gone and instead Petyr and Cersei stood arguing in subdued tones. The restaurant was still empty, the lights dimmed for the supposed evening crowd that would show up at any time. Or wouldn’t.

Sansa’s heels clicked against the floor, forcing the two executives to look up. Petyr frowned. Cersei smiled.

“There that’s much better Sansa,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. "Your makeup looks _much_ _better_. Now next time," she walked towards her. Sansa stood her ground as Cersei touched her ponytail gently. "You will do your hair and be on time."

"Of course." Sansa smiled her best customer service smile. Teeth gleaming, instead of tears, in the low evening light. She looked away from Cersei to Petyr and the smile dimmed a bit. A tightening around his eyes was all she registered before he spoke.

“Now Mrs. Baratheon,” Petyr smiled wickedly as Cersei grimaced at her surname. “I hope you aren’t forgetting Tommen and Myrcella’s recital? Or would you rather stay and train Sansa and I’ll go watch them in your stead. I’ve heard Myrcella’s skills on the lobby piano, her Debussy is brilliant. Have _you_ heard her play much?”

Even Sansa wanted Cersei taken down a peg, but could see that Petyr playing the working mother card was a low blow.

“I have and I was just heading to the school right now. Make sure that your favorites know the personal appearance values of this hotel next time you decide to move them up.”

Their eyes met briefly, each sizing the other up still, before Cersei turned and smoothed the front of her red dress as she exited into the main lobby.

Petyr watched her until she entered the executive offices behind the front desk then turned his attention to Sansa.

“What did she say to you?”

A nervous sweat lurked in her palms. She danced around the question. “I mean I was late and in the wrong dress so she was justified in berating me for that.  ”

“Don’t you dare say anything about Cersei is justifiable. You’ve always been a bad liar.” He scoffed. “She won’t attack you like that every day, she’s just out for blood today. What else did she say to you?”

A sidestep. “Is she upset because of the occupancy?”

His eyes surveyed something on the hostess screen in front of him and then looked back at her. “Among other things. Her husband's running his campaign into the ground and she can't handle watching him lose her position as the FLOTUS who's really the POTUS. What _else_ did she say to you?”

Another sidestep. “Is Casterly one of the other reasons?”

He was catching on to her distraction game and tilted his head knowingly. “Ah who’s been spreading the Casterly news around?”

“Anyone who sees you spending twelve hours here instead of Varys knows about Casterly. They just don’t know the particulars.”

“And no one _will_ know the particulars until the deal is done. But back to the matter at hand. What else did Cersei say to you? She’s awful, but this is the first time she’s ever pushed a Stark to tears.”

Her cover-up couldn’t get bloodshot eyes she supposed. With a breath and a glance at the still empty restaurant she spoke without looking at him. “She just hinted at a task and a job description I wasn’t aware I was getting myself into.”  

“You’re a host today and an Inferno server Sansa. You’ll never be an Inferno Girl. I can promise you that.”

“What’s the difference?” But she knew didn't she? Or Robb had clued her in.  _Oh so the Inferno Girls aren’t prostitutes..._ She still refused to look Petyr in the eye her heart beating faster as she waited for his answer. 

It was Petyr’s turn to dance away from the question.

“Guests come in with particular needs. It’s my job to accommodate every need they may have.”

“ _Your_ job?” slipped out before she could stop herself.

His hand reached out to turn her cheek to face him. For a second longer than necessary he left  it there. Then a grin akin to the one in The Irishman lit his face up and his hand dropped. “I only do my own dirty work if it’s a pleasure for me as well. Always keep your hands clean Sansa.”

Her eyebrows raised, she gestured to the empty seats, “That’ll be easy with no patrons.”

“Very astute. Fortunately we’re empty tonight. There are still some finer details we need to go over before I toss you to the elephants and lions that permeate the restaurant and lounge. It’ll be easier with no guests to attend to. First lesson, we’re all liars here and every one of us is better than you. Don’t let any tears, eye-rolls, vocal tones, or classified information give you away." He raised an eyebrow daring her to roll her eyes; he wasn't given the satisfaction. "You have to be in control. The sale depends on you after all.”

The sale was up to her…at least he didn’t tell her the sale was _her._

* * *

21 October 2016

“This is madness!”

 The DJ had just transitioned into a remix of “California Love” and the already enthusiastic crowd had increased their energy tenfold. Sansa and Jeyne both returned to the back of the kitchen at the same time to fulfill appetizer orders.

Jeyne laughed at Sansa’s exclamation, “I forgot this is your first weekend in the lounge. Trust me it’ll only get worse. It’s still pretty slow this weekend, the line is usually out the hotel lobby doors. Better than the past few weeks, but,” she grabbed the tray of wings a chef had tossed on the heat lamps line, “still slower than the normal crowds.”

Sansa was beginning to regret her decision to transfer to the other side of the lobby. The view of the criss-crossing strobe lights and covered windows left a lot for her to imagine in her quiet gift shop. Now she was in the thick of it.

Inferno.

A black room decked only in reds and oranges to give the impression of the club’s namesake. The giant bar took up an entire wall that pulsated orange, red, and yellow with every beat of the music coming from the speakers on the walls. Five shelves that extended to the ceiling, along the wall behind the bar, were lined with an assortment of any alcohol one could dream of.

A raised dais in the center housed, not the DJ, but the VIP booths. This allowed those who paid quadruple digits to see and be seen by all beneath them. Tonight the club was full with an actual line reaching to the grand staircase in the lobby.

“Did you get the drink orders for that table in the corner?” Jeyne called to her as they exited the quiet kitchen back into the mess of music.

“I did. They already ordered another round of shots and they want a bottle of Grey Goose.”

“Christ they’ve already had four rounds and a bottle of Veuve. Make sure to tell security to keep an eye on them. They may just be trying to get girls to come to their table, but I can see them drinking it all themselves if that approach doesn’t work.”

Sansa nodded and straightened her black dress before hitching the drink tray on her shoulder. She had barely mastered the fingertips approach to holding the heavy tray, but weekend nights were packed enough that one wrong move could spill a triple digit tab and Sansa refused to give Cersei any ammunition against her skills as a server. Petyr had been extremely diligent and professional during her training shifts. No mention of the Irishman incident was ever brought up and he hadn’t sent her another text. Loras caught her eye and nodded his head at her as she met him behind the bar.

“I’m taking a bottle of Grey Goose and I need a round of Jameson as well.”

“Is that for table 23?” he replied and poured ice into a shaker with the ingredients for a the Highgarden Strawberry Rose Margarita.

Sansa blanked, “Sorry Loras, I haven’t gotten the numbers down yet. It’s that one in the corner.” She turned and vaguely gestured to the rowdy group. “That one.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned. “They can have the shots, but they got handsy with Ros when she passed by on her way up to the VIP lounge so they’re cut off from bottle service. Varys’s orders.”

“What’s the best way for me to put that when I tell them?” she asked anxiously.

Loras didn’t miss a beat as Jeyne dropped off another drink order. He pulled his curls into a bun and ducked under to grab four shot glasses. “Say ‘Here are your shots, stop touching the servers unless you pay for them, and get the fuck outta here.’”

“Oh yeah that’ll definitely go over well.” Sansa glanced over at the group of guys. Draped in dress shirts unbuttoned to the middle of their chests, slacks, and gaudy watches and she was absolutely sure the amount of cologne they were all wearing combined caused another hole in the ozone layer. They cat-called a girl with her friend to the left of their table and then flipped her off immediately after she didn’t respond. She turned back to Loras, who had already moved onto Jeyne’s order, her tray of shots awaited her.

“Look just take them their shots, tell them we’re backed up on bottle service, and then don’t get back to them until the end of the night when you bring them their credit card back.”

The plan seemed sound the way that Loras explained it, but there was no telling how the men would react with whatever they already had in their system besides what Sansa had brought to them.

“If all else fails,” he added, “just call over a security guard.”

She nodded her head and took the tray from him. The music had shifted from “California Love” into the electric wah pedal opening of Ariana Grande’s “Side To Side.” With the beat of the song driving her pace Sansa rolled her shoulders and put her server personality on.

_We’re all liars here and every one of us is better than you._

Petyr’s voice in her mind reminded her that this wasn’t an area she could get away with being an asshole to guests in. She brushed past bodies in the crowd to get to the corner table across the room.

_The sale depends on you._

Head held high she glanced up at the VIP dais. A large party was stationed up there. She could tell the amount of money spent by the number of girls in skin tight black dresses, knee-highs and garters, with red chokers gracing their necks, the Inferno Girl uniform. Five girls mingled above, seeing to the needs of whoever was up there. She spied Joffrey, Margaery on his arm, speaking with a wide-eyed, brown-haired guy around their age. Something told her she knew his face, but he wasn’t one of Joffrey’s normal crew. He snapped his fingers and Ros appeared at his side and even from her place on the ground she could see the bright white packet being slipped into his leather jacket’s pocket.

So he was a Mockingbird VIP. It explained the number of Inferno Girls. But the VIP dais wasn’t her concern. This table was. The tray of shots in her hand was.

“Hello again boys. A round of Jameson?” A coy smile played on her lips as she placed it on the table.

“Yes please. Yet, you could probably quench our thirst,” the one who she witnessed initially catcalling the girl from earlier said.

“Oh I don’t think I can do the same thing that Jameson does.” A laugh escaped her lips as she placed a shot in front of each of them. “Alright well here you go.” She began clearing the empty glasses and putting them on her tray to save the bussers a trip. “If there’s anything else you need just catch my eye,” she winked. _God I’m winking at skeevy strangers with $40,000 watches on their hands_.

“Wait,” another started. “We ordered a bottle of Grey Goose too didn’t we?”

The others seemed to have forgotten.

“Oh my goodness you did? I must have completely forgotten. I’ll go check how quickly the bottle service is going and then I’ll come right back with your credit card. I don’t know how I could have forgotten about you.”

A laugh resounded around the table, “Sweetie wait a minute, cancel the Grey Goose, we’ve got another request for you.”

Her smile froze, but her voice was still sweet and high, “Oh and what’s that?”

“We’ve heard tell of a different bird that’s notorious in this club.”

“A bird? You spend a lot of time in Britain lately? We’ve definitely got a lot of _birds_ in here.”

“Cute and quick. Ain’t she boys?” In an instant he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. He reeked of his ozone layer defeating cologne and booze. She turned to the bar to catch Loras’s eye in a plea for help, but he was busy. A glance around provided no glimpse at security in any corner of the room.

“Aw you’ve scared her Donny.”

“Ah sweets we don’t mean to scare you. We just want the goods.”

“The Mockingbird goods that is.”

“Here,” with his free hand he placed a crisp bill into her dress. “For your stress. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah we’re just going to-”

But a trio in black walked up interrupting whatever the man was going to say or do.

“Gentlemen, might I remind you of the number one rule of Inferno? You can look, but you can’t _touch_.” Petyr smiled slyly at the men and wagged his finger. Jon and Sandor providing an even more intimidating shadow. A little man could cast a big shadow, if that shadow consisted of two larger men.

He held his hand out to Sansa who accepted it gratefully. Donny let his grip loosen enough for her to extricate herself and allow Petyr to pull her out of the man's lap. Within the same swift movement he drew her close enough that his mouth was at her ear. Warm and low, but close enough that she can hear him over the music, “Go to the kitchen. I’ll be there in a moment. Would you like Jon to walk you there?”

In an attempt to keep the tears at bay she raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head before making her way back through the crowd towards the solace of the well-lit kitchen.

“My girls may be eager, but you have to practice some self-restraint unless you're willing to pay for it,” Littlefinger laughed heartily. “Now what can my associates and I help you with?”

* * *

 

 

 

As soon as she reached the inner sanctum of the kitchen the music was almost nonexistent. A trashy club remix of an Ed Sheeran song was playing, but she could only hear the bass pounding against the walls. Her eyes adjusted to the extreme light versus the darkness she'd just come from. What she expected to be a solace only forced the tears to come out.

"Damn it stop crying," she muttered.

There was no one in the kitchen, all of the servers were out, and the night cooks were nowhere to be seen. Just like security was nowhere to be seen for such a brief moment. But a brief moment was all the men needed. The employee hand-washing station in the far corner of the kitchen beckoned her. She had to gain some control back. Hot water and soap to sooth a bit of the grimy feeling.

"Fuck."

“Sansa.”

It wasn't Petyr who came back, it was Jon. Which she appreciated all the more. With hair pulled back in an unorthodox ponytail, black suit, and an earpiece in his ear he was in King’s Landing security mode, but he pulled her into a hug. The facade of tough silent security guard shattered by the older brother. 

“Are you okay?”

She wanted to say no because she wasn't, but she just nodded instead. He only touched her without her permission. A regular occurrence at the hotel apparently.

“Sansa…Sandor already took the guys out. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine Jon. Thank you.” She’s not. She wanted a shower. She wanted a different job. She really wanted to go home. But there were two hours left. Two hours at a job that she was ill-equipped to deal with.

Someone was speaking in Jon’s ear. With a frown he held his wrist up to his mouth, “Ten-four I’ll be downstairs in five. Sansa do you want to go home?”

“Ah Jon I don’t think that’s your place to ask.” Petyr’s ability to appear out of nowhere showed for the second time. “I think there’s some urgent _business_ for you to attend to downstairs.”

Jon may have shadowed Petyr moments beforehand, but any camaraderie was gone. Petyr didn’t need his shadow anymore. But did he ever? Wouldn’t a Mockingbird packet and an Inferno Girl have appeased the handsy man?

“Let me know before you leave tonight Sansa.” Jon said and then headed in the direction of the service elevator. 

Petyr looked Sansa up and down, eyes pausing at one of the straps of her dress. He glanced back at her eyes, “I’m sorry we didn’t get there before he grabbed you.”

She shrugged, “It’s all in the Inferno game right?”

“No it’s not. I misplaced my judgment on who should have kept an eye on you tonight. I won’t do that again.”

“You’re keeping an eye on me?”

“You attract attention Sansa. You just need a bit more refining.”

“I didn’t have any control tonight. I don’t like it.”

“It’s just practice. You did well. A bit more refining of your technique and you'll be fine next time.”

She rubbed at her eyes and threw her arms down, “No I didn’t. I don’t know where anything is, I didn’t know how to properly cut them off, I didn’t know the correct answer for when they asked for cocaine, and then he grabbed me. He put his hands on me and-”

Petyr had reached out to touch something at the edge of her chest. 

“Don’t touch me!”

He brought his hands up in surrender, but between his right middle and forefingers he held a hundred dollar bill. The bill the guy had tucked into her dress. “You made the sale. That was all you. And this is yours.”

It was that easy and yet she felt like she hadn't made the sale, but sold herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much going on in this fic. No excuses as to the sporadic updates. 
> 
> YOU ALL ARE WONDERFUL FOR READING THIS.  
> I truly appreciate your kind words and thoughts.


	5. Brunch, Bolton, Baratheon, and Baelish

23 October 2016

  
“Could we have another round of mimosas please?”

  
“Of course Miss Tyrell. Any other appetizers while you wait for your meal ladies?”

  
Margaery looked to the girls at the table who shook their heads and smiled. “No I think we’re okay. Thank you Isaiah.”

  
The waiter turned and left Margaery, Sansa, and Jeyne to their beachfront table and poke salads. It was 11am, prime Sunday brunch time, and the Tyrell name on a reservation was just as good as a Lannister or Baratheon name in any section of Orange County. While others waited for tables to be cleared, the host had spotted Margaery and greeted her immediately leading the three girls to a table almost directly on the sand overlooking the coastline. Sansa could never fully understand Margaery’s connections or why her family was so well known, but was thankful all the same that her friend was one of the truly kind and wealthy Orange County socialites. While Margaery’s role as doting girlfriend required her to party with Joffrey most Friday and Saturday nights with brunch and poolside lounging on Sunday…any given week day or night she could be found doing all sorts of “charity work” as many put it.

  
Sansa knew Margaery would probably spend her Friday and Saturday nights doing the same if she could get away from Joffrey long enough. Cersei may have had a lot of control over her eldest son, but she could only force him into a tux for a gala if it had to do with his father. Otherwise, his nightly main domain was any nightclub.

  
Sansa’s dealings with guys like him had decreased significantly in a short time. The previous night in Inferno had gone by with less action than Friday. Every table Sansa waited on always had a mix of women and men or was solely just women. The rowdy guys never found an open table in her section it seemed. With Sandor always visible in the corner of her eye she knew that her table situations were not coincidental. The influence of Petyr still pervaded the club even though he had been gone Saturday night. Inferno was managed solely by Varys; the VIP section had double the occupancy it had on Friday causing a shortage in regular Inferno servers.

  
Jeyne, Myranda, Sansa, and their bussers and bartenders had barely managed drink and food orders, but Varys never raised his voice and even helped bring out food and drinks, letting Ros take over the darker dealings. The club had finally closed at 1:30am and Sansa fell into her bed at 2:00 with the idea of a relaxing brunch lulling her aching legs to sleep. Inferno servers’ heel requirement made her roll her eyes, but she figured worse things could be asked of her. She could have been forced to deal with skeevy men again.

  
“Alright so you have to dish about the Inferno drama from Friday night,” Jeyne looked over the rim of her champagne glass before she took a sip.

  
The orange juice and champagne bubbled in Sansa’s stomach at the memory of Friday. “It was nothing.”

  
“Oh yeah that’s why you left early on Friday and I got stuck with all the shitty gross guys last night?”

  
“I mean that could have just been chance. Myranda didn’t have to deal with too much…”

  
“Well that’s because she’s been trying to attract Ramsay’s attention,” Margaery said with an eye-roll.

Sansa speared a piece of poke onto her fork before she asked, “Ramsay? Who’s that?”

“Ramsay Bolton. He’s Joffrey’s latest tag-along. Mostly because his dad’s-”

  
“Friends with Joffrey’s dad,” Sansa finished for her the last name a metaphorical light bulb. “He’s that brunette guy that was wearing the leather jacket right?”

  
Margaery nodded, “He’s fucking insane. Well he's cool I guess, but the amount of coke he snorts is enough to kill any normal human, yet it barely seems to faze him. He’s definitely been Littlefinger’s best customer. And anytime he's there Ros has to be glued to his side."

  
“Wait,” Jeyne furrowed her brow, “so who’s his dad? Why is he in with Mr. Baratheon?”

  
“Bolton Industries is a weapons industry. Like the top one for the entire world,” Sansa grimaced. _Remember don’t let everyone know what you know._ Even the mimosas couldn’t allow her knowledge of every aspect of the relationship between Baratheon and Bolton to slip. Not after her slip with Petyr. “It’s disgusting, but he manufactures a lot for the U.S. as well. I can’t remember his dad’s name.”

  
“I can’t either actually…” Margaery picked up her phone and turned to Google. “Roose Bolton. Of course the first photos are of him hunting with Joffrey’s dad. That family…”

  
“You’re the one dating Joffrey Marg.” Jeyne laughed as Margaery’s face darkened. “Okay so this Bolton guy’s a military meathead. But that doesn’t have anything to do with what happened on Friday. Come on Sansa. People are saying you’re trying to move up to Inferno Girl status and that Baelish got pissed and wouldn’t allow you to work with the guys anymore.”

  
“What?! That’s not it at all. Who is saying that?”

  
“Servers. Bartenders.” She shrugged. “You know how they are telling everyone everyone else’s business but their own. I mean you make bank as an IG, but you gotta be willing to let it all out. I mean I never took you for that kind of girl Sansa. What about you Margaery?” The two shared a laugh and Jeyne winked in Sansa’s aghast direction.

  
“No that’s not it at all. I could never be an Inferno Girl. Petyr said…” she checked herself. “Baelish said-”

"Oh  _Baelish_ that makes sense. Since he only moved you up because you're beautiful." Jeyne teased. 

"That's not true," Sansa said pointedly, irritation and emotion rising up. "I couldn't stay in that gift shop anymore and I'm not stupid. Granted I didn't understand what I was getting into with Inferno and the people there." She stopped as Margery and Jeyne stared at her with wide eyes. 

  
“Oh Sansa, Jeyne's joking and taking it too far. We don’t think you’d actually be an Inferno Girl.” Margaery’s voice softened. “But what really did happen? I mean I saw Baelish being all Littlefinger with Jon and Sandor backing him up and I saw you in some guy's lap, but nothing really made any sense and then you were gone when I looked back.”

  
“I just honestly didn’t know what I was getting into when Baelish goaded me into moving up to Inferno in the first place,” Sansa sighed. Tears burned, but didn’t spill over. She didn't want to talk about it, but she needed to talk to someone about it. “I’m not able to just fake it for money you know? All of those people in there are the epitome of everything I can’t stand and I just go in there and smile and flirt and pay attention to their every need as they waste money and get shit-faced. And those stupid disgusting guys. Like at least in the gift shop I just had to deal with them saying disgusting things, but it’s not like they could act on it. And I guess those guys weren’t entirely awful.” She shook her head, as she was always trying to find the good in others even when it wasn’t exhibited. “They wanted cocaine and they were already really drunk and one of them just pulled me into his lap and I freaked. I just can’t handle...Like I’m not equipped to be a server if that’s what it entails. I wasn't expecting it or I just-” The tears had begun to spill at this point, but she let them. “Then of course Cersei has been on me all the time and I was never deemed important enough before, but everyone only thinks Baelish moved me up because he thinks I’m good looking or some stupid shit like that and that’s what’s going to stick anytime I do something wrong like that. It was just maybe I am just ill-equipped to do this and I'll always be worth nothing in-” she took a breath and Margaery placed her hand over Sansa’s.

  
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault those guys are the way they are. Whether they be club proprietors or idiotic over-cologned men flaunting money…their actions don’t reflect your worth as a person."

 

“I didn’t know you had such a rough night Sansa. I thought it was just-” Jeyne started. She bent her straw in half and twisted it into a knot. “I’m sorry I've been giving you so much shit. I shouldn't have told you what people were saying.”

  
“No you should have. It’s not like you could have known, that’s what it seems like anyway. Rumors spread all the time in that hotel. Any number of things could have happened and no one would have known the truth.”

  
A kid on a skateboard zoomed by yelling, “Make America Great Again!” a red Baratheon hat on his head, an American flag tied at his neck, drifting behind him like a cape.

  
“Speaking of shitty people…” Sansa rolled her eyes and then wiped the tears away.

  
All three of the girls laughed, but the tension was still palpable.

  
“I mean you’re not a bad server Sansa. Everyone has to learn and I know you hate faking it, but you’re really good with guests.” Jeyne smiled. “Even the idiotic ones.”

  
“Honestly don’t let Cersei get to you. I mean I know she runs the hotel,” Margaery sighed, “but you’re a hard worker, you’re smart, and in the end their family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and you won’t be there forever. You know that.”

  
“Yeah I guess I do.” Sansa turned away from her two companions and looked out at the beach. People milled about; bike riding along beach, families setting up umbrellas to block out the awful UV rays, teenage couples laying out towels to soak up those UV rays, adults watching their kids run out into the waves the second the last bit of sunscreen had been rubbed in. The world wasn't just socialites and 

"Hey if you need any future references though you should come and help at Read Better Be Better. We're trying to get a branch up and running in California since the Arizona one is doing so well. When are your classes?"

"Monday through Thursday, but Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday I have time in the morning to help out. I don't have class until 1 and I don't work until 6 or 9 on Fridays. Could that work?"

Margaery's eyes lit up, "Yes that would be perfect. You can come with me and read with the kids at schools or if you'd rather you could help out at the office with organizing."

"The reading part would be cool." Sansa beamed. "Honestly I've been meaning to ask you if you wanted some more volunteers. It's just been so crazy lately."

"Of course I understand _completely_. This will be so much fun. I tried to get Jeyne to come last week, but somebody dislikes kids and enriching their lives with more access to reading."

"Okay yeah that's absolutely why. It's not that some of us have to work 24/7," Jeyne laughed. "I mean that's all well and good that you're going to volunteer and whatnot, but back to the Inferno issues. Sansa you gotta admit..." Jeyne looked over to Margaery who took another sip of her champagne and shrugged. She started to speak again, but their waiter descended on their table with a giant tray. 

"Alright two Nova Lox Benedict?" He placed one in front of Sansa, the other in front of Margaery. "And the Seaside Breakfast Special for you miss." After placing the dish in front of Jeyne he topped off their glasses and placed the second clear vase of orange juice and champagne in the middle of the table. "May I offer you any other dishes or sides?" The girls all shook their heads and he smiled. "Perfect. Enjoy!" 

After they'd all taken a few bites Sansa dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and smiled. "Wait so what do I have to admit Jeyne?"

"Oh it's just about Baelish," Jeyne laughed.

Sansa's smile fell, a look of exasperation taking over. She raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"Hey hey I didn't _actually_ mean the comment about why he moved you up. Don't get angry. He just," she moved a piece of shrimp on her plate and then straightened her shoulders. "Like I mean , to put it bluntly, he's always touching you."

"Touching me?" Sansa laughed, her exasperation dropping for a moment.

"Yes he totally is. Margaery back me up."

"Hey don't drag me in. I just saw the one instance when he pulled you from that guy's lap." After a pause she shrugged, "Okay and there were a couple of other times. I noticed him with his hand on your shoulder at the hostess stand during that night my grandmother and I had dinner at The Iron Grill with Joffrey. When he was training you he did that and he moved your hair when he was talking to you which is kind of weird. Besides that, I mean, he barely ever does any training. It's always Varys. Which makes sense because it's his department. It's kind of weird that he's been in Inferno as much as he has been since you transferred. Of course Loras is his right hand man when it comes to the _side-business _.__..and Loras talks." She scoffed. "That's honestly how the rumors probably got started."

Sansa was quiet again. She took a bite of salmon and thought over her in-hotel experiences with Petyr. He'd never been overly touchy with her in the gift shop, but within the restaurant and Inferno, Margaery had noticed a lot. He'd been a bit more liberal without a counter between them. Ever since the night at The Irishman she supposed a line had been crossed on both sides, but he'd never made her uncomfortable per say. Besides the hundred dollar bill incident she'd enjoyed their interactions. They hadn't really registered as weird. Yet they had taken a turn from political discussions to something different. In the past week of her time as a server she supposed he had been around more and more hands-on than he needed to be for an Inferno server. In her mind the image of Arya waving a red flag came up making her think of her sister's experience trusting a shady mentor. The fact that Loras had taken notice didn't bode well either. "I mean yeah I guess he kind of is, but I never thought badly of it I suppose. Thank your brother for spreading rumors though Margaery," she laughed.

"You never thought it was weird? He's never gotten so handsy with other employees while I've been there," Jeyne replied cautiously.

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I mean I guess if you're fine with it," Jeyne shrugged, "it doesn't really matter. I just wouldn't want you to be on Cersei's radar even more. Ya know?"

"For real. I mean she hates you because of your dad. No telling what she'd do if she thought you were sleeping with Baelish."

"Okay that was a bit of a jump Margaery."

She eyed Sansa, "Don't underestimate her, but also don't put all of your trust in him either."

Margaery echoing Robb made Sansa's stomach a little more uneasy than before.

 

* * *

25 October 2016

"Jojen you can read can't you?" Meera asked with her hands holding something behind her.

Sansa sat next to Harry, taking her break in the Room Service coordinator's office and watching the two siblings squabble as they waited for the next order.

Jojen's face crumpled in confusion while he finished chewing a piece of steak from a leftover banquet event in the ballroom, "Yeah."

His sister whipped out the piece of paper she'd held behind her back. "Read it." He did and raised his eyebrows in exasperation at her. "Out loud please."

Harry laughed and Sansa smirked while Jojen recited the printed words. "Bold all caps," he began, "Employees do not eat in the kitchen. Italics reduced capitalization, that includes you room service. Thank you management."

"Can you comprehend that Jojen?"

"Yeah it means I can't eat when there's management around, but when there isn't," he took another bite of the steak, "anything is fair game."

"No," she laughed trying to keep her angry face on. "It means that if you keep eating and Brienne, Varys, Baelish, or god forbid, _Cersei_ come through the kitchens while you're eating and not working, we never get to sneak pastries again. So quit eating your bad steak and help me fold some napkins."

"Yeah come on Jojen, think about the lemon pound cakes," Sansa laughed.

"Nah it's all about the oreo cheesecake," Harry said and stood up. "Speaking of...Would anyone like some pastries? I've been getting rather close with the new pastry chef and I'm pretty sure she'll give us more than the others."

Meera rolled her eyes, "Don't you dare bring back flirtation pastries. I want wholesomely stolen peanut butter jelly cookies thank you very much."

"Noted." He turned and pointed at Sansa, "Lemon cakes? I'll be back in 10."

Harry went down the corridor leading to the kitchens and Jojen glared at Meera while she folded the gold and red checkered napkins. "You go on rants about eating to me, but not his nasty habits with the pastry chefs?"

"You're my brother."

"That's not an answer Meera," Jojen laughed.

A loud ringing erupted and the two siblings groaned.

"I got you guys," Sansa said and rolled her chair to the phone which rang again. She pulled an order sheet in front of her and looked at the number to see which hotel room was calling. "Oh 'Accounting?'" The sheet lay forgotten in front of her as she pulled the receiver to her ear. "Thank you for calling Room Service, this is Sansa speaking how may I help you?"

"Ah Sansa I should have known to call Room Service first," Petyr laughed. "Don't worry you're not in trouble, but whenever you're done with your break I need you to come back to my office."

"Oh okay," she replied and glanced up at the clock on the MICROS system in front of her. "It's past 6 what are you still doing here?"

"I'm afraid I never adhere to the 9-5 time frame that comes with my job title. Capitalism has no sense of time."

"Oh god I'm going to vomit," she laughed. "My break's done in about five minutes anyway. Do I need to let Varys know or did you call him first?"

"Yes I already let him know. See you in five then." With that he hung up.

"Who was that?" Meera asked.

"Baelish. He just said he needed to see me in his office."

Meera and Jojen exchanged a look then continued folding.

"Okay come on, you guys too? I'm not sleeping with Baelish," Sansa groaned.

Harry rounded the corner with pastries in hand, "What the hell did I miss?"

"We don't think you are!" Jojen said too innocently. Sansa eyed him pointedly. "Okay we really don't think you're _sleeping_ with Baelish. He's just weird. With you and in general. Like his whole thing with the Inferno Girls? What hotel does that?"

"I second that. Here are your lemon cakes," Harry handed her a white takeout box and leaned against the door frame. "He's definitely got a thing for you."

"I don't know what to tell you besides he's not with me. I guess it seems like it," she shrugged and batted away any thoughts of Arya and her red flag. "But it's not the case and I should go. Thanks for the pastries."

* * *

 

She walked into the lobby and crossed the main entrance towards the door leading to the executive and sales offices. In the far corner she could see her old stomping grounds a girl inside wiping at the gift shop's windows. Talisa was helping a guest at the front desk, but caught Sansa's eye and smiled as she passed by. After reaching the door and inputting the four digit code and she opened it to enter the silent empty room of cubicles for the sale team. The soft carpet muffled her heels as she followed the hallway to Petyr's office in the back. Every single person kept telling her to be wary of Petyr. The cocaine, the prostitutes, the entirety of his sketchy job title: it all spelled trouble, if not danger. Robb had said she knew all the stories, but truly she didn't. Whatever murky past he'd spoken of angrily on the night of the pub crawl she didn't know. Yet she supposed that made him all the more dangerous. Were they just rumors surrounding a kind accounting executive with some dirty details or was everything he showed her truly a facade? The never ending overthinking was giving her a constant headache and she just wanted things to be all out and simple. His door was open, but she knocked on it and ducked her head in.

"Hello! Woah, what happened here?"

His desk was cluttered in piles of spreadsheets, cash envelopes from the weekend and the subsequent cash from the envelopes. Petyr was kneeling in front of the unlocked safe in the corner placing stacks of hundreds in the back of it. He stood up, closed the door, and spun the dial. "Our auditor being on vacation is what happened here."

"Jeeze," she stepped inside the cluttered office. "Do you need some help counting cash?"

"I wouldn't mind it, but go ahead and sit down first." He gestured to the seat beside the door and then set in his own chair behind the desk. An Excel document was open on his computers' double monitor setup. Sansa noted a lot of negatives in red, when she sat down placing the pastries in her lap. "I thought you weren't a snooper Sansa?"

A blush colored her cheeks when he minimized the screen and turned to look at her, "Only when it comes to someone's camera roll."

"Oh but not classified hotel documents?" An expression of mock astonishment crossed his features, but his eyes were alight with teasing. This was the Petyr who seemed completely open to her.

Sansa shrugged. "Those are fair game if you leave them open for all to view."

"Almost as if I was 'asking' for you to read them? How very Robert Baratheon of you Sansa. I do believe this hotel is getting to you."

"Did you call me back here to talk about the election because I don't mind getting paid for that, but I think Cersei might," she laughed.

"Oh Cersei minds a lot of things, but that doesn't matter." Petyr relaxed back in the black office chair. "How have you been?"

"What?" The question blind-sided her.

He smiled, "How have you been since Friday? I know you've been working every night since then and I'm concerned about your well-being."

"Is this some kind of therapy session Petyr?" she scoffed. Of all the people she'd wanted to talk about Friday night with Petyr was the last one. But also the first one she wanted to rage at, yet he wasn't there when she'd finally had the capacity to talk about it. He'd disappeared the next night and then been away since then. The contradicting feelings and her headache returned.

"It can be. Talking about events like Friday night isn't wrong if it's with the right company. Would you rather talk about this with Cersei?" He smirked.

She shook her head. "Stop it. Is this really why you called me back here?"

"Sansa," he leaned forward and she looked down at the box in her lap. If she caught his eye she didn't know what she would feel or how she'd act and she for damn sure wasn't going to cry in front of him again. "I want to talk about this with you. Varys says you've begun to adjust well to being a server and he's gotten great compliments from patrons the past couple of days."

"Yeah since you've meddled and ensured that I get a select type of guest now since I can't actually handle anyone else," she looked back at him. That was the issue. Her lack of control over everything once again.

"I only did that on Saturday because I could. There was no reason for you to have to deal with another set of men like the ones from Friday."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't do that for anyone else. You wouldn't have noticed if Jeyne or Myranda had been pulled into a guy's lap."

"I would have as they're not Inferno Girls. Ask them. Any man or woman who's touched them when they weren't willing has been disposed of. Just like the ones from Friday."

She looked up to meet his steeled gaze, "What do you mean disposed of?"

"I mean they won't ever make an appearance in this hotel again."

"Seems like a bit more than that," she murmured, met with silence. There wasn't a reason for her not to talk to him. She'd never stop being angry or confused if there was no communication. "It's gotten better. I've felt more comfortable, but it's also been slow and the weekday restaurant crowd is obviously very different than the weekend crowd. I honestly didn't know what I was getting into."

"How many people have to tell you that you're doing well for you to finally get it Sansa? No matter how much you've hated the job you've done well with guests even in this toxic environment. Even when they've come in with a Baratheon hat and shirt Varys witnessed you ignore it and do your job and then saved your rant for the backroom. Granted he did say he'd never expected any of those words to come out of your mouth. I guess some people haven't seen that maybe the sweetness is just a facade." He laughed and she smiled. "I'm sorry about Friday. You weren't truly ready yet, but when would you ever be ready for something like that?"

"Never, but I just felt like you were actively deceiving me. Then everyone else backed it up with fresh rumors and...I know that you're an executive and I'm just a hotel worker, but I feel like I know more 'fake news' about you," she smiled when he interrupted with another laugh, "than I do anything factual about you. It's hard to put my trust in you."

He was quiet for a moment and her mind went into overdrive. There was no reason for him to need her to know things about him to trust him. Why did she need some undeniable trust in him in the first place? He was her boss. They'd shared one, random drunken meetup. He'd been flirtatious sure, she supposed his trick with her phone could be called flirtatious, but she'd definitely been exhibiting some flirtation herself. He could have just been placating her. When it came down to it though she was just another person on his payroll.

It didn't truly seem like that and she didn't want it to be like that either.

"I'd prefer us to be a little more than an executive and 'just a hotel worker' and you're right that needs trust," he finished softly.

It was again her turn to be silent and question every single bit of what he'd just said. She had no reply. What the hell did he mean by preferring to be a '"little more?" Acquaintances, friends, or some other relationship that she did _not_ want to comprehend in his office at that moment?

Her inner meltdown must have been present on her face because he continued, "How about this. You get one question a day. Ask me anything, anytime, and I'll answer it truthfully."

"Truthfully?" she laughed.

"Yes completely truthful. I won't hide anything. No topic is off limits."

"What do you want in return?"

"I want the same from you."

There was the real line. She'd thought it was the touching, but in that moment she knew the line had been completely erased and there was no turning around back to Robb or Jon and Arya or Jeyne and Margaery or Meera, Jojen, and Harry. Whatever she wanted was what he wanted. Or was it the other way around at this point?

"I think that's fair enough. I don't have any dirty secrets or past lives though."

"What's in the box?"

She opened it and placed it on the table, "Contraband lemon pound cakes. Want one?"

"Sure. Varys already thinks you're counting money so why don't you finish your shift and help me out."

He placed a stack of twenties in front of her and she started to count them out. Neglecting the machine to her right that would count them for her if she placed them in the designated slot. She mulled over her question while she counted. 20, 40, 60, 80, 100. 20, 40, 60, 80, 200. On and on until 20, 40, 60 80, 800.

"Why do you work for the Lannisters?"

"They wanted to kill your father and so did I."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 7's here and I'm back. (Sort of.)  
> No excuses for the absence.  
>  Just more delays on writing this and editing the second part of The American and the Irishman.  
> It's always tough when you know where you want a story to end up, but the most realistic way for it to end there is the hardest damn thing to write.  
> This was only my first read-through edit so I'm sure there are some mistakes and I apologize for being hella lazy. I'll be that person who rereads it at a reasonable hour and finds the random small things that could have been edited out.   
> Okay enough word vomit.
> 
> weekendsareforwhiskey.tumblr.com is where you'll find me wasting time (and reblogging things) instead of writing while I patiently await the fate of PXS in season 7.


	6. Literally or Politically?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the three month anniversary since I wrote "I patiently await the fate of PXS"  
> What a fool I was for believing "They enjoy each other" was canon.  
> But here's some flashback imagery and an update.

18 July 2005

The Social Studies work in front of her was killing her. Sansa missed her regular teacher. She was tired of learning about all of the states and their senators and the branches of government. She missed her classroom and other students who could ease some of the monotony of learning about people she’d watched her parents entertain and work with for the past year and a half. She missed the Pacific Northwest most of all.

Washington D.C. was disgusting. It was hot and humid and it the air stank. When their family first moved there she thought it would be wonderful. She’d get to visit all of the monuments and museums and learn so much history with her mother and father. Her school would be a top notch private school where all the best families went. She soon realized the grass would always be greener where it didn’t stop raining in the northwest.

It had started just like she thought life in the district would be. Her family went to all of the museums, she would have ice cream and snow cones on Capitol Hill when they met up with her father after a long day. They’d gone to political fundraiser picnics and balls. She and her younger siblings all attended the Aidan Montessori School while Robb and Jon were enrolled in at Emerson Prep.

Then it all changed.

If her father ever came home she never saw or heard him. Whenever she saw her mom she was never happy anymore. A permanent frown line had developed on her brow and her time was dedicated to the stacks of papers she carried with her always. The last full conversation she’d had with the kids was when the school year had ended and her mom sat them down to inform them that Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon would be home-schooled starting that summer. Her excuse being they could finish their studies earlier and perhaps go to Emerson as well if “things changed.”

That was all her mother said. No explanation. No buts about it. Robb and Jon had seemingly been spending their summer as they pleased, while the rest of them had been forced into their private home-schooling by a woman who looked and acted like she had lived since the 19th century. Robb was silent when she pressed him for more information, but Jon had relinquished a bit more when she wouldn’t stop.

“Dad just wants you guys to be safe.”

“Why wouldn’t we be safe? Why are you guys allowed out?” She had whined.

“Robb and I both have jobs Sansa.”

“Not at midnight you don’t. You guys think we can’t hear your cars when you don’t start the gas until you’re down the street, but we can. Why do we have to be home-schooled Jon?”

“It’s just safer this way, Sansa. Dad’s job has gotten a bit-” he stopped and chewed over his words. “There are just some people who don’t want him to do his job the way he does. There have been some phone calls and emails that lead him to believe you guys would be safer here than going out.”

That had been the most she could get out of him. She was still stuck learning elementary studies in an extra bedroom turned classroom while her friends from school got to go out and spend their summer properly.

Arya had been quietly planning a coup and Sansa glanced over at her sister’s notebook to see notes like “Jon and Robb’s cars or skateboards and scooters?” and “food for me, food for Nymeria, water, socks and underwear are a must” scribbled instead of the list of west coast state representatives they were supposed to be jotting down while Bran and Rickon worked on their own 2nd grade work.

The front door slammed downstairs and voices drifted up through the open door distracting Mrs. Mordane. Arya took her chance to dart out of the room, Mrs. Mordane yelling at her retreating form. “Arya Stark you get back in this room this instant!”

Sansa turned to Bran and Rickon sitting at their desks obediently. They looked at her and she slightly titlted her head to the right. They understood immediately: the only way for all of them to get out was for everyone to leave.

The boys darted up and out brushing Mrs. Mordane out of the doorway. “Boys!”

Sansa stood up, not to join the others, only to help the aging teacher balance herself before falling. “Oh my goodness I’m so sorry. They just can’t be controlled sometimes. Here I’ll go get them.”

“No no don’t worry about it. We’ll just end early today.” She huffed. “Thank you for always being the responsible one Sansa.”

Sansa smiled and nodded like the dutiful pupil she was and gathered her notebook and pens up and to drop off in her room. For once, she was thankful for her sister to ease the stir-craziness. _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_ was waiting patiently for her. Robb had brought it home to her since the younger siblings were under their inexplicable house arrest. He’d brought her and Rickon their own copies of the book while Jon had brought Arya and Bran two gifts wrapped in brown paper. Under his orders they’d both hidden their gifts, but Sansa was pretty sure they’d been the new foils their mother was trying to save until Christmas.

Her room was a solace of blush and gold and she sunk into her bed gratefully. When her door was closed she couldn’t hear any of the madness ensuing downstairs from whatever mischief Arya ran off to commit. With her pillows stacked behind her, Sansa picked up her book and finding her chapter where she had left off. The feeling of the unknown awaited her and all she needed to do was keep turning the pages, immersing herself fully into the lives of the fictional people.

Dumbledore and Draco were at a standoff with Harry immobilized close-by, but the hairs on the back of her neck raised and she knew it wasn’t because of the story. She couldn't concentrate. No matter how gut-wrenching it was she had to put the book down. Something was wrong.

She opened her door and dipped her head out into the hallway. With no one in sight she walked out to look over the bannister towards the downstairs foyer. Two men in suits that she’d never seen before were at the foot of the stairs standing guard, but there was no one else that she could see or hear. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see random suited men and women coming and going, dropping off files or letters or any sort of document for her parents, but these two weren’t going. The feeling wouldn’t shake away when she saw ear pieces snaking down their collars and guns in their hands. These weren’t her father’s people.

“What would Hermione Granger do?” she whispered to herself.

She quietly went to Bran and Rickon’s closed door next to hers and peeped her head in, but neither of the boys were in. Arya wouldn’t be in hers so she bypassed that one and went straight to Jon’s. But the only thing that moved in his room was the curtain drifting by his open window. She heaved a sigh regarding the knowledge that what she was about to do was not what Hermione Granger would do unless she was with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. The door closed behind her with a soft click and she got down on her hands and knees to look for the rope in the closet that Arya had stashed for emergencies.

It was gone.

After brushing dust off of her summer dress she approached the open window where the rope was still tied to the fake balcony planter’s bar. She looked out and could see Rickon reading at the top of the lone tree in the yard. He seemed alright, nothing to be worried about there while he was doing exactly what she'd been trying to do. But where were Bran and Arya? Footsteps sounded on the staircase and she heard a man’s voice.

“Sansa? Are you up here? Your father sent me to get you.”

Chills ran down her spine. Instead of putting her trust in an unknown man she climbed out the window and attempted to repel down the side of the house. The hot air hit her like a shower and her hands began to sweat immediately. Unfortunately, three quarters of the way down, she lost her footing on the brick of the house, with her upper arm strength no equal to Arya’s or her older brothers’ she fell and landed hard on her shoulder. A cry escaping her lips as a pop resounded and a pain like no other shot up her arm.

“Sansa!”

Rickon scrambled down from the tree. Then the back door opened and Robb rushed out.

“Sansa what the hell are you doing?”

“Robb? You’re home?” Tears were welling up in her eyes.

“Yeah. Where’d you think I was?” He’d reached her side and was checking on her arm. “Why were you climbing out the window?”

“It doesn’t matter there are two guys with guns in the house!”

Robb tensed, “Don't worry about them. Did you hear a pop or a crack when you landed?"

She couldn't understand why he wasn't more worried about this. Guys with guns were always the bad guys. She tried to shake his hands off of her shoulder, but whimpered when more pain shocked her. "It was more of a pop I think. One of them said he was sent by dad. Where is he?"

"Dad's in his office, but we should get you inside. I think it's just out of place." He picked her up as gently as possible and walked into the kitchen through the french doors.

"Wait he's home?" Rickon exclaimed as he followed closely behind.

"Yeah he got home before Arya ran off. Rickon don't leave your book in the tree. I just bought you that." Rickon ran back to get his forgotten book and Robb continued to talk to Sansa. "He wanted all of us together for a family meeting, but then Arya escaped with Bran before he realized what was happening. So he sent Jon off to find the two of them."

"Maybe if he hadn't left us in the dark about why we've been punished." Sansa grumbled.

Robb sighed when he set her down on the couch in the living room. "You're not being punished and he doesn't have to explain every single thing to you guys Sans. Now let me feel your shoulder again. This is going to hurt when I pop it back into place."

"What if it's not out of place? What if I broke it?"

"You didn't fall from the second story at least...but it's going to hurt either way. Now think of how much Harry's scar hurts every time Voldemort's near him or when he broke his arm and Lockhart took out his bones. That's gotta be worse than what you're feeling."

"Well hi scar is more of a burning Robb, it's not broken or- OW!" His plan of distracting her with misinformation about her favorite fictional world worked while he slowly adjusted her shoulder worked. "That hurt Robb!"

"But it's better now right?"

She rolled her shoulder back, it twinged, but he was right. It wasn't anything like the pain she'd been feeling moments before.

He smiled, "I'll get you an ice pack and then I'm going to check to see whether Jon's found them yet."

"You said dad's in his office?"

"He's in an unexpected meeting." He walked back into the kitchen and yelled back. "That's why those guys are here. Don't bother him yet."

"I won't!" She yelled back. "I'm just going to go to my room. I don't need the ice Robb."

The house phone started ringing and she made her way down the hallway, fully intending to go up to her room. But as she walked to the staircase she could see her father's office door open a crack. The men with guns were nowhere to be seen, and she could hear her dad's voice quietly drifting into the hall. Behind her, Robb was busy with whoever had called the house so she was free to eavesdrop if she did it well. She edged her way over to the door, back against the wall. Bare feet quiet against the wood floor. A laugh erupted from the office. She knew it well. Robert Baratheon in a formal office meeting with her dad? He was always there for dinner. Never for formal business.

She couldn't make out their conversation so she edged closer. Ear to the crack on the hinge side of the open door.

“I want you to be my Vice President Ned.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at Baratheon’s request. She waited with bated breath for her father’s answer. Wasn't this the political career he was on the road towards? Wasn't that the goal for most politicians?

“Robert…Targaryen just got sworn in and you’re planning for 2008 already? You’ve got plenty of time to think this over and campaign later on.”

“He can’t stay in office after this term. The Republicans need to be in that White House again.”

“We need Congress again first,” Ned sighed. “But most importantly I need my family safe first.”

“Oh come on,” Robert scoffed. “I get death threats all day long against myself my family. I get slander tossed my way about my wife and step-children and you don’t see me putting them before the party.”

“Well that may be where our difference is Robert."

Sansa had never heard her father’s voice turn so cold.

“Ned I won’t take no for an answer."

"Robert they've been threatening my children's lives."

"It's all bullshit. If you haven't gotten a death threat and you're in politics then you're failing. I’ll leave you to mull this over. Like you said... we’ve got time. Think it over.” His chair creaked under Baratheon’s weight and Sansa darted down the hall before she was caught listening at the door.

She raced back into the living room just in time for Jon to enter with a kicking and screaming Arya. Bran close behind walking sullenly.

"Put me down Jon! I will not be carried around like a baby!"

"Then quit crying like one." He muttered. "I swear I will tie you to the couch and force you to watch Degrassi with Sansa if you don't quit kicking me."

His empty threat worked. Or however much running Arya had just done had tired her out enough to stop and admit defeat.

Heavy footfalls came behind Sansa and she turned to see Baratheon and her dad coming into the living room.

"Mr. Baratheon!" Robb immediately went into political mode. "I didn't know it was you our dad was meeting with. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Robb you don't have to be so formal! I'm an old family friend before I'm a politician. Remember that." He laughed heartily, but Ned didn't join in even when Robert looked his way. "It seems you have some family drama he needs to work out though so I'll be leaving. If you need another recommendation or an internship Robb you know where to find me."

"Of course." Robb beamed. Ever the diplomat he added, "I'll walk you out. Is your security detail with you today?"

Their conversation quieted as they headed to the front of the house, leaving Ned Stark alone with the other family members.

"Well," he started looking at Arya and then Bran. "What happened today?"

"Well we learned about the Pythagorean theorem and the people who run the government on the west coast..." Arya started.

"Arya," their father growled. "Why did you run away?"

"Run away? Me?" She looked affronted. "Bran and I just wanted to take the dogs for a walk. Isn't that right Bran?"

A laugh escaped Rickon's lips when Bran shook his head.

"Oh just a walk?" Jon added. "A walk with a backpack full of food and clothes and comic books?"

"Don't forget the foil." Arya added sassily. "You never know when you'll have to duel someone on a walk with your dogs."

"Arya!"

"Yes father?"

He sighed and looking up at the ceiling for a moment. Perhaps praying for the patience to deal with his children. "Your mother and I haven't kept you guys locked in the house for no good reason. We've done it because...Well I'll have to explain when your mom gets home. She wants to be here for this too, but Arya, Bran, Sansa and Rickon you listen too, you cannot leave the house alone. There are bad people out there who want to hurt our family and I just need to know you guys are safe at home. Okay?"

The four stayed silent eyes locked on him. No one said a word. Even when Robb came back into the kitchen, joining Jon by the counter.

"I promise things will change soon. Tonight. When your mom gets home we'll explain everything to you guys."

 

 

25 October 2016

“Do you mean literally or politically?”

“I don’t believe we discussed whether follow up questions were allowed.”

Her weight shifted in the chair and she set the stack of twenties on his desk.

“Well we didn’t discuss how to continue the conversation when the potential murder of a family member is brought up.”

  
“Fair enough.” He was smiling and it irked her. “One follow-up question.”

  
“You did say you wouldn’t hide anything and you’d be completely truthful. Is that possible with just one follow-up?”

  
“In regard to the initial question.”

  
Her eyes narrowed. “I say four follow-up questions.”

  
The smile never left his face. Colder to her than before, after hearing him willingly say he’d wanted to kill her father. What did that even mean? “I’ll agree to that, but they have to pertain to the original question.”

  
“That’s what follow-up usually means Petyr.”

  
“Alright cheeky English major.” He still wasn’t answering her question. While the cash remained ignored between them he turned his attention to the box she’d passed him earlier. He broke off a piece of the powdery lemon bar and popped it in his mouth. All the while she waited for his answer.

“Do you like lemon cakes Sansa?”

  
Evasion. And a waste of a question. “They’re my favorite.”

  
“Well I’m sorry to have stolen one of your favorite treats.” Powdered sugar dusted his fingertips.

  
“It’s fine. I offered it after all. There are plenty more.”

  
“Contraband pastries. You and room service completely disregarding the rules,” he murmured. “A little of both.”

  
Sansa raised her eyebrows. So he'd answered her question. “What does that mean?”

Two questions down two to go.

  
“I loathed your father when I first had dealings with the Lannisters across the country. Anything that would effect him negatively was on my to-do list. That loathing went so deep that literally killing him wouldn’t have been a far stretch from what I wanted.” Another pause occurred when he gauged her reaction to this news. Sansa’s face remained blank, waiting for him to continue his explanation. “He was also an upstart messing with the system I was a part of at the time so I wanted his political career killed too.”

  
Killed. Such a harsh word. Politics. Such a harsh game.

It was a lot of information to digest in such a short period of time. She picked up a neat pile of one dollar bills and stood up to put them in the automatic counting machine. "When did you start working for the Lannisters?"

"2003. A little bit before Cersei married Robert Baratheon. I was usually with the patriarch of the family though. Not the twins. When did you start liking lemon cakes?"

Lemon cakes and her love for them seemed a much more inconsequential and inane subject than ever before during such a conversation. A conversation that explained so much in so little time. But did it matter anymore? Her father wasn't in the political game anymore. Well he wasn't a power player in D.C. Robb took that over. When her dad switched to blue following their move back to Washington state, Robb stayed true to red. Already having made ties with the Republican side. Planning on staying true to his red-blooded American side.

$377 dollars in ones spat out of the machine. Final question. She placed a rubber band around the stacks in three stacks of one hundred each. Handing the loose $77 off to Petyr.

"Were you part of the reason Robb got his first job at the hotel?"

He quirked his head, "I don't see how that pertains to the original question."

"When my family moved back to the west coast after my dad quit the D.C. political game Robb had no connections to the Lannisters beside Robert Baratheon. But even that was a fragile one that he wouldn't have used because there'd never been a resolution to my dad and Baratheon's big fight yet. I guess my question is actually when did you drop politics and join the hotel business?"

"Ah yes, that fight." He raised his eyebrows. "Does one ever drop the political game?"

"I don't know do they?" It never seemed like it when it came to her family. Still steeped in the game.

"So many questions...I feel like your last one shouldn't get an answer. Besides, you can find out how long I've been here by asking anyone."

She quirked her lips. He had her there. It had been a waste of a question with the way she'd worded it. 

"Are there any other contraband treats you like Sansa? Any hidden guilty pleasures or substances?"

He was eyeing her intently. There were cameras everywhere. Especially places where cash needed to be kept account of. Her gift shop had three. Angled to keep an eye on the products and the cash. No doubt he'd seen the day she'd picked up the cocaine from his deal with the guest. Seen her pocket it. Told security to keep quiet about it. Or maybe security had never even seen it.

But why bring it up now? Why not before when she'd been on high alert that someone somewhere had seen her pick up the Mockingbird baggie.

"No," she replied with a smile. "Just lemon cakes."

His grin lead her to believe that he knew she was breaking the rules of their question game with a lie.

 

29 October 2016

“Today we have fresh footage of Democratic presidential nominee Daenerys Targaryen complaining once again about her negative press. Why don’t we take a look?”

“I would truly appreciate it if the press would stick to the matters of the election. I’m not here to talk about my hair or Robert Baratheon’s life drama or the past issues I have been acquitted of. I am here to talk about-”

The clip cut out and Sean Hannity’s gloating smile took over, “She just can’t get over her hair can she? We get it you dyed it brown. Because she’s trying to disassociate with her family’s well-known platinum blonde? Maybe there are some Aryan race ties? Who knows? Perhaps she’s just trying to get the heat off of her Middle Eastern and Russian ties. With only two weeks left until election day our panel is here to discuss the current climate of the race as it heats up.”

“Much like the earth is supposedly ‘warming up’ if you ask anyone with a liberal agenda Sean,” chimed Pycelle, the go-to qualified “scientific” news correspondent.

Harry groaned. “Sansa please turn it off. You’re not even doing your homework.”

“I’m too angry! Nothing Sean Hannity says makes any sense. Within two seconds he has already ignored everything she said in the video and just lied. And his viewers eat it up! They’re all so infuriating. No she isn’t just constantly talking about her hair or the problems with how the media is painting her. She was just about to say what she was going to talk about when-”

“Sansa how many essays do you still have to write for your midterms tomorrow?”

A breeze blew in the open window behind them. The chill of a real October had finally arrived and with it a larger workload both at work and school. Yet the news and Bartheon’s lead in the polls chilled her more than the weather or her massive procrastination problem.

She leaned forward from her position on the couch, grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and pressed mute. The Fox News anchors and correspondents on her TV silently continued with their shallow, insipid sniping, instead of actually reporting news.

“How many business proposals do you have left?” she asked snidely.

“One,” he beamed smugly. “Because I don’t give a shit about listening to global politics, just the money it will make me.”

“Nah it’s just because you can work while listening to bullshit.” She smiled and pulled her laptop closer to her. “You do it all the time in Room Service.”

“True true. There’s that too.” Harry stood up from the couch to stretch. “Starbucks run?”

“Will you go to Kean instead?”

“Sansaaaa. If I go to Kean I have to drive. I can walk to Starbucks.”

“But Kean’s honey vanilla Irish latte is the only thing that will keep me caffeinated enough to finish these papers Harry.”

“How about I get you a drink from Starbucks that doesn’t have three adjectives in front of it and instead just has like… four shots of espresso in it?” He was inching away from the couch towards the hall.

“Harry. Honey. Vanilla. Irish. Latte. PUH-LEASE.” She pointed to the kitchen table on the opposite side of the room. “My purse is over there. You can take my car.”

He sighed. “Okay you win because you’re a spoiled brat. By the time I come back,” the search through her purse for her keys caused a delay in his speech, “you better be done with at least one essay. Holy hell Sansa how many pens do you need? There are like seven different types and then at least two of each in here. How unnecessary is that? Where in the world are your keys within this abyss?”

“I hate when I don’t have a pen and I always need one. Stop judging me on the contents of my purse.” With a hop she was off the couch and made her way across the room to his side. She dipped her hand in the inside pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, a dangling silver Eiffel tower the only charm among them. “Here you go.”

“I’ll be back in ten with your stupid latte and a regular person coffee.”

“You can make regular coffee here! You can’t steam milk or have a shot of espresso. Who’s being unnecessary now?” Her laughter chased him as he shut the door behind him.

With a glance at the TV showing Sean Hannity his panel of “esteemed” guests still talking about Dany’s hair color she turned her attention back to her laptop. The month of October was supposed to be solely dedicated to writing her research essay on American lit and yet she’d still found excuses not to. Arya had only been visiting for a week so she had to spend all of her time outside of class with her or at work. Her new job placement at the hotel had been on her mind so often that she needed time to just wind down and spend time with Jeyne or Margaery. And any time outside of those activities…well of course she had other classes and midterms to think about.

Even though she deemed her American Lit course her most important, there she was with two essay deadlines approaching her. Unfinished. Along with the midterm itself. All on the following Monday.

Which was why she’d been smart enough to request the weekend off; her past-self knew how bad her procrastination was and that she would most definitely put the research essay off until the final weekend before it was due. But even her past-self had expected her to finish the necessary midterm studying. Varys had given her a stern look when he glanced at the Halloween weekend request off, but when she’d pulled out her syllabi with the dates highlighted and written all over, he acquiesced.

“Good to know you’re just a studious nerd.”

“I’m not even going to act insulted Varys,” she laughed.

His management skills were completely different than Petyr’s. She supposed that was because Petyr was only involved in the darker deeds of Inferno, but dabbled in the management when it was deemed necessary. Sometimes she forgot his main job as an executive was a bit more important than selling cocaine and women like a glorified hotel pimp. (Except a presidential nominee's wife's family's hotel would never do that.)

Varys was everything Inferno and Iron Grill related. He was strict when necessary, but not hard-hearted. His understanding of the food and beverage industry went further back than any of the Lannister hotels and he’d even been a server in his youth. Anyone who understood what it was like at the bottom of the business usually made a good manager in Sansa’s book. His camaraderie with the staff wasn’t based on fear, unlike most of the management of the hotel. (Granted her previous F&B manager had been an exception to that too. Brienne was one of the most kind-hearted managers she’d ever had, albeit a little imposing at first.)

Petyr…There was definitely a little fear there. Whether it was fear of disappointing him or fear of something else entirely she couldn’t pinpoint. And lately she’d seen less of him than ever. He’d either been going back to his regular 9-5 weekday executive shifts or purposefully avoiding her whenever she was there on weekends. Every time she’d gone back to the executive corridor to drop her tips in the employee vault, his office door had been shut. Something she’d never come across before. She hadn't dared send him a question during the week after their first session. Still wrapping her head around the possibilities that he'd effected her family before she'd ever started working at the hotel.

A flash on the screen interrupted her musing. Fireworks lit up the sky at a Baratheon campaign event. If there was anything that could get her away from all things Baratheon it would be finishing her essays and acing the midterm bringing her one step closer to her degree. So Sansa turned the television off and got back to work.

29 October 2016

Evening

Her conclusion was lacking, she still needed to find a stellar quote for her introduction, but her essay was essentially done. A sigh escaped her lips and she drained the last of the latte Harry had gotten her. He still sat to her left; his laptop on his lap going back and forth between memorizing the PowerPoint presentation for his business proposal and looking at Reddit.

Sansa’s phone chirped from its place on the kitchen counter where she’d forced herself to place it out of arm’s reach. She still glanced up in its direction wondering who was texting her on Halloween weekend. Her study plans were known to her friends and family so they knew not to disturb her.

“No.”

Harry’s admonishment cut through her thoughts and she laughed. “Don’t worry I’m almost done anyway.”

“Mhm sureeee.” His own phone started ringing in his pants pocket and he pulled it out. “I knew he would call out. God damn it Edd.”

“Oh he’s most definitely going out tonight. That’s rough.”

Harry slid his finger across the screen and held it up to his ear, “Hello? Ah yes I knew you’d be calling me tonight Brienne…What sass? I would never… Yeah, yeah, yeah I can be there in about twenty minutes… I know I’m a knight in over-starched bow tie and vest. Bye Brienne see ya soon.”

“Oh man sucks to be you,” Sansa laughed. "Have fun with all the drunk midnight orders."

Harry sighed and closed out the windows on his laptop, “Yeah tell that to your second essay and midterm studying you haven’t even started.”

“Well it’s only six o’clock. That’s the start of my prime writing time anyway and once you’re gone I can blare Fox News to my heart’s content. It should be really inspiring for my DeLillo essay about America’s constant influx of white noise.”

Harry raised his eyebrows while packing his laptop back into his backpack. “You’re too smart to be friends with me. How did that happen?”

“You’re like a charity case.” Sansa deadpanned before they both broke into laughter. But it was short-lived with the chorus of Lily Allen’s “Fuck You” breaking it off. A ringtone she had reserved solely for the contact labeled Hot(el)l. “No…Why are they calling me?”

“Oh what a shame, I mean you could always ignore it. Turn your phone off.” He slung his backpack onto his shoulder and walked over to her phone. “Say you threw it off a cliff to ensure you’d finish all of your homework.”

It stopped ringing and he glanced at the screen for a moment. It chirped again. “Oh yeah one new voicemail. And a text from Jeyne warning you that you’re definitely getting called in. She’s such a good friend. You want me to listen to it?”

“Ugh they can’t force me to go in.” One of the couch’s man throw pillows muffled her voice when she threw herself facedown. “I refuse. I asked for this day off way too far in advance.”

“Ah yes,” Harry took on an affected voice. “This is Petyr Baelish of the King’s Landing Hotel requesting you call him back as soon as possible.” He dropped the accent with a laugh. “Why is Baelish calling you? Shouldn’t Varys be in charge?” He glanced down at the phone again as it started ringing again. “Oh dolla dolla bills as a contact photo?" Harry’s thumb slipped accidentally pressing “Accept” instead of “Decline” while he teased her. “Do you have a sugar daddy Sansa? Want me to answer? Oh fuck, I did answer. Oh fuck Baelish? Shit.” He scrambled and quickly pressed end.

Sansa’s eyes widened a tight smile crossing her features as she sat up from her position on the couch, “Harry! What the hell? How was that the first course of appropriate action in your mind?” She crossed over to the kitchen and took her phone from him waiting for the moment when “Petyr Baelish” would light up the screen and she’d have to answer it this time.

“I was confused and I panicked okay? Real question is why the hell is Baelish’s contact photo hundred dollar bills? Are all those rumors true girl?”

She ignored his questioning. “I do not want to go into Inferno tonight. It’s going to be such a mess. I should just turn my phone off…”

“I’m all about people ditching work, but I mean if sugar daddy B is calling you…Ouch okay you’re the one with stacks of hundreds for his contact picture. Don’t hit me because I’m stating facts.”

“It’s a joke.” She muttered. Harry wouldn’t get it even if she did explain it. It would only cause more questions so she fibbed. “Because he’s the accounting exec.”

“Yeah but why do you- Oh here you go. Should have turned your phone off while you could.”

Sansa slid her thumb across the screen, effectively silencing the ringing, and walked down the hall towards her room. “Hello? This is Sansa speaking.”

“Ah Sansa. It's you this time,” he laughed.

“Yeah I honestly have no excuse for that…” She decided to feign ignorance as to why he was really calling her. “Is there something wrong with my cash drops or something else you needed?”

“Oh no your drops are fine,” his dry tone let her know her feigned ignorance was all for naught. “This is regarding your ability to come in tonight to serve in Inferno. You see, Myranda saw fit not to give notice that she was leaving and the Halloween party is sold out tonight. The servers could really use the extra help Sansa.”

She sighed and toed at her desk chair, scraping her foot along the leg. “What time do you need me to come in?”

“Not until 9:30, but I'll need you to stop by my office first. The girls are all in costume tonight so you won't be wearing your normal uniform."

"You're kidding right?"

He chuckled again a creak accompanying the low sound. She could picture him in his office, leaning back in his chair. Foot against the desk. The image left her mind when he spoke again, "Afraid not. The theme for the girls this year is female popstars and there's a union jack Ginger Spice dress with your name on it."

"You're really not selling this whole, 'Sansa come and do us a favor' thing. Ros is also a red head you know."

"I do, but the Inferno Girls have got different costumes they wear."

"Oh what a shame you're going to be missing a Ginger Spice then."

"You'll get time and a half for a five hour shift. A measly five hours."

She grimaced. That was a pretty great offer especially since she'd already planned on visiting her parents during the better holiday pay days. An easy five hour shift wasn't that bad, she supposed. She still had a couple of hours before she even had to go in.

"Well it seems I've officially sold my soul to this corporation," she sighed. "I'll see you at 9:30."

"Perfect. I'll make sure we find a great pair of go go boots. Oh and Sansa one more thing."

"Petyr," she groaned, testing her limits with her boss. "I can only sell so much of my soul on my weekend off."

"I know, don't worry. I just want to request that you bring a certain something that doesn't belong to you when you come." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "A contraband treat if you know what I mean."

"I believe I know what you're talking about," she replied steadily glancing over at her bookcase. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less Petyr I apologize. More of a Sansa-centric backstory chapter. A little bit shorter too.  
> He'll be back to his Modern AU sleazy scheming ways and the question game with make a comeback too.  
> The election's coming up after all. Who will win Targaryen or Baratheon?


	7. Hades Halloween Part I

29 October 2016  
Her midterm was finished. A rush of creative energy mostly resulting in a thesis centered more on Dylar and LSD than she’d originally intended. Drugs were weighing more on her mind as there was no other contraband treat she could think of that Petyr would be asking for.

  
The ache in her stomach subsided when she rushed to finish her paper. So she tossed in some extra context memorization in an attempt to keep that nervous feeling from returning. Authors and their novels. She could do that. DeLillo wrote _White Noise_. _Oblivion_ was David Foster Wallace. Yates wrote…Yates wrote…she blanked at the thought of the conversation she was about to have come 9:30. A little over an hour away.

  
He wasn’t going to fire her. She thought she’d rather have that at this point. The hotel was so toxic she wouldn’t mind a forced removal, but Petyr had to have known how long she’d had the cocaine. It had happened way before she was a server, before the Irishman night even. He’d had plenty of time to broach the subject, yet he hadn’t.

  
_Revolutionary Road_. Yates wrote one novel. Just that. Thomas Pynchon wrote the LSD infused post-modern mess _The Crying of Lot 49_. All about LSD. An intense drug much like…cocaine. She needed another distraction and her books weren’t going to help her in this case.

  
Makeup. Precision and thought required for a perfect Inferno face. Cersei might be there…No she wasn’t. She was in New York getting ready to finish off the last minute east coast campaigning before returning to the west coast for election night. New York called her to her husband’s side. A united front. Fox had just had their breaking news alert about LaGuardia being shut down due to Stannis’s private jet skidding off the runway thanks to the heavy rainstorm happening.

 

Mother Nature seemed to disapprove of the Baratheons’ campaign too.

  
Sansa Googled “Ginger Spice makeup” to see if it there was a look that wasn’t too outlandish. One that was just enough to make her feel like another person to make it through Inferno for five hours. A painted face as a shield. Not be herself. Her phone chirped.

  
_Heard you’re coming in ):_

  
_Yeah I’m expecting a lot of ginger jokes tonight._ She replied to Jeyne’s text.

  
_Oh wait until you see my Britney outfit. It’s ridiculous. Wish I was one of the Spice Girls. This theme is so stupid._

  
Applying her makeup had barely helped clear her mind. She brushed her teeth and smacked the toothbrush back into her medicine cabinet. Defeated by her anxiety.

  
The packet was right where she’d left it before. She grabbed her copy of White Noise and slipped it in between the cover folds. After she donned a cardigan, she grabbed her purse and was out the door.

* * *

  
“Hey Harry,” she said as she breezed by the Room Service office. Jojen and Meera were both gone, delivering something upstairs no doubt.

  
Harry looked up and waved continuing to talk on the phone, “Well we have pasta primadorra, spaghetti with meatballs, pasta bol- Oh the kind of pasta we cook with? Pardon me…Where it’s sourced from?”

  
Sansa laughed at the exasperated expression on his face and shook her head. It was a long night ahead of Harry. He deserved the immediate instant karma if Petyr _had_ actually understood anything Harry had teased Sansa about before he’d hung up.The kitchen was packed with waiters picking up orders off the mainline. She waved to a couple of the chefs and made her way to the pastry alcove. The smell of cinnamon and dough hit her when she rounded the corner and spotted the lead pastry chef, Ben, finishing the last bit of icing on a skull shaped cookie.

  
“Hey Hot Pie,” she greeted him with his nickname. “Are these for the Halloween hot mess?”

  
“Mhm,” he grinned. “It’s this stupid trick or treat thing they’re doing. They pay $100 to duck their hand in a cauldron and pull out either a trick or treat. The treats are the skull cookies, the tricks are these black bags with some gag gift I guess.”

  
“Wait they pay $100 for cookies? What’s the gag gift?” The hotel was ridiculous, but there was no way anyone in their right mind would pay $100 for a cookie. They were good, but not that good.

  
“They just told me to make cookies, didn’t show me anything else.” He shrugged and started icing another cookie on the sheet in front of him. “Whatcha need?”

  
“I actually just needed two lemon cakes. Do you have any extras back here? I swear they’re not for me this time,” she said with a wide grin.

  
“Uh huh, like I believe that,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “You know where they are. Go for it.”

  
“Varys isn’t back here right?” She glanced behind her to the busy kitchen.

  
Hot Pie shook his head. “Nah he’s out double checking everything’s ready in Inferno. Brienne might be back here though. So be quick and hide the box.”

  
Sansa stepped inside the open fridge where most of the pastries were stored and pulled out the silver rack where the extras for the gift shop were. She grabbed the last two powdery lemon bars and placed them in a white to-go box. A look over her shoulder ensured that Hot Pie was still busy icing the cookies so she slipped the packet of cocaine out of her book and placed it between the two cakes. A shiver ran down her spine from the cold and the espionage of it all. She ducked back out of the walk-in fridge.

  
“You’re a life saver. Thanks.”

  
“You’re welcome. I thought you weren’t even supposed to be here this weekend though?”

  
Sansa shrugged. “I wasn’t, but they called me in. You know how it is.”

  
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah for sure. Good luck out there. I hear it’s gonna be a hot mess.”

  
“Hopefully your cookies have some magic in them that keeps the craziness at bay,” she teased.

  
With her box of contraband lemon cakes and cocaine she made her way once again, out of the kitchen, across the lobby, and into the executive hallway. It was a quiet retreat from the already ensuing craziness in the lobby; the line to gain entrance into the lounge reached the valet. Sansa had seen some of her female coworkers dressed in skimpy versions of pop stars handing out complimentary jello shots to the VIPs who had paid enough to gain early access. Jeyne had winked at her when they caught each other’s eye. She laughed when her friend gave an ever so slight eye roll as she gestured to her “uniform” for the night: the iconic Britney Spears school girl ensemble. Complete with braids. Jeyne wore it well with a fake grin. Sansa knew should could learn a lot from her friend. The only sound in the corridor was her shoes padding along the carpet. She hadn’t even bothered with heels as her entire uniform would be provided by Petyr. She grimaced thinking of the plastic white boots that awaited her. As she approached his office she could hear he wasn’t alone. She recognized Ros’s voice and stopped before she could see his doorway. Listening to their conversation by one of the other executive’s closed door.

  
“Are all the bags set up in Inferno?”

  
“Mhm. Varys is double checking that Myranda didn’t steal any blow before she left,” Ros replied with a scoff. “I wouldn’t doubt that she did to be honest.”

  
“I wouldn’t doubt it either, but she did run off with a sugar daddy so she’ll have plenty of funds for her own. Not that either of them will ever be allowed to set foot here again,” Petyr muttered darkly. “What else is left on the checklist?”

  
“I still think the price is too low.”

  
“There are more cookies than cocaine Ros. It’s a stacked game of luck,” Petyr laughed.

  
Sansa’s cheeks burned. So it seemed there was a little bit of discretion if Hot Pie didn’t know the trick was actually the cookies. At least Petyr “protected” the hotel’s reputation from anyone outside of Inferno.

  
“Still a waste of product. Hmm, what else is here... Oh, you want me to take care of Ramsay all night again?” Ros asked. 

  
“I’m not too worried about him. He knows the drill. If he wants some blow he’ll find you or me. I don’t think he’ll need overnight company. Focus on Joffrey. I don’t trust that twerp without his mother in town. Who knows what shit he’ll get up to before he heads to his girlfriend’s suite.”

  
“Who’s on duty up there tonight? Sandor and Jon?”

  
Petyr scoffed, “Jon insisted he stay on the floor and Varys overrode me. So it’ll be Sandor, Gregor, and one of Cersei’s other men. Slint I think.”

  
“Gregor? Seriously? He lets Joffrey do whatever the fuck he wants. You owe me a raise after tonight. Is Jon being a brat because of his sister?” Petyr didn’t reply, but Sansa figured he nodded. “Speaking of, is your little sugar baby coming in tonight?”

Sansa's cheeks burned again in embarrassment and irritation. 

  
“You know better than to listen to Loras. She wouldn't be here if that were the case. But, she should be here any moment. I told her to come in at 9:30. You better join the other girls. Make sure they all have their chokers and garters on. I’m not losing any of you tonight.”

  
“It’s Halloween not war Petyr,” Ros laughed. “Not _all_ of us are your merchandise.”

  
“I’m still not losing any investments tonight. Those idiots out there think they can do anything when they’ve paid enough,” Petyr growled.

  
“I mean if it’s the right price they can. You’ve even said that yourself.”

  
“Just make sure everyone has their-”

  
“Chokers and garters I got it. Like chipped dogs I swear.”

  
Sansa heard Ros’s heels leaving his office and started walking so it wouldn’t be as obvious that she’d been listening in. Ros still smirked when she saw her though. She felt the red cross her cheeks, but Ros just shook her head.

  
“Oh hey Ginger Spice, we were just talking about you. Welcome to Hades’ Halloween party,” she said in a mockery of her sultry accent she used in the club.

  
“Nice outfit,” Sansa smiled slightly.

  
Her compliment wasn’t empty. Ros really did rock whatever look the Inferno Girls were forced to wear that night. Ros’s usual thigh highs were replaced with black tights. The regular dress was gone as well, instead she had a tight black, lacy bustier and matching tight “shorts” that were definitely just lingerie. A black bowler hat rested at an angle on her curled red hair.

  
“Theme for us Inferno girls is _Chicago_. We’re all over the place with the themes honestly. Someone,” she raised her voice, “needs to figure out one theme and make it work for the whole area next year, instead of having three different ones. I ask you, Hades, pop stars, and _Chicago_ …what’s the common denominator?”

  
“Ros quit talking shit. You know I don't choose the themes. Get your ass out there,” Petyr called from his office. A laugh accompanied his harsh order and Ros shook her head.

  
“If he wanted to see me in black lingerie all he had to do was ask,” she muttered with another wink in Sansa’s direction. “All this fuss over themes and tacky costumes…Can’t wait to see you out their Ginger Spice. Have fun.”

  
Sansa walked into Petyr’s office. Ros had made her laugh, but her heart was pounding again at the thought of the contents of the box in her hand. Petyr smiled when she entered though. A good start.

  
“Sansa welcome in. Thank you for the favor,” he said. Ever the polite businessman first and foremost.

  
“I’d like to thank the Lannisters for the ridiculous amount of money they’re contributing to my bank account tonight,” she laughed nervously. Opening with jokes to cover up the thoughts in her head. “Where’s this ridiculous outfit I have to wear?”

  
“We’ll get to that in a minute. I think you have something for me.”

  
She held the box out, “Contraband treats with a powdery white kick.” He met her outstretched arm halfway and took the box. “Why didn’t you ask for these sooner?”

  
“Would you like that to be your question for the day? I think we’re rather far behind on those aren’t we?”

  
His cordial tone was so at odds with what she thought it would be. He seemed so at ease. It both helped her calm down, but kept her on edge as well. Waiting for the catch. The moment where Sandor and Jon would come in and escort her out. No, Petyr wouldn’t do that. At least she didn’t think he would.

  
“Sure why not.” If he could be at ease she could at least fake it. She sat down in the chair opposite him.

  
“I had a theory that you would return it when that client dropped it. I figured it might take you a while to work up the courage, but you’d come around soon enough. Perhaps with questions of your own. I didn’t know if your brothers had ever told you about the nature of Inferno’s not very hidden underbelly or whether you’d just found out then. But then you never did come around.” His smiled tilted into his notorious smirk. “Then I thought maybe you’d tried it yourself.”

  
She scoffed. His smirk deepened when he opened the box and saw the cakes encasing the packet.

  
“Clever,” he murmured and nodded his head in recognition of her. He grabbed a Kleenex to wipe off the excess dough and powder from the plastic continuing to talk while he did so.  
“But your scoff was precisely what came to mind and I dashed that away immediately after I thought it. You’re too _good_ for this sort of nonsense.” Sansa’s eyes narrowed at that. The way he made _good_ sound like a bad thing. He was goading her. “Which brings us to my question. Why _did_ you keep it? The truth this time. Especially if you weren’t intending to sample it yourself.”

  
A question that she really didn’t have an answer to. What had been her reasoning behind keeping it? To have some secret? To be in on whatever “dark” deeds Petyr was a part of? Had she ever considered trying it even…No. Snorting discarded cocaine wasn’t on her mind when she pocketed it. She supposed it was the same reason she still worked in the hotel. The reason why she wasn’t leaving immediately when presented with a cheap Halloween costume instead of a uniform for the night. Cocaine and sex appeal weren’t a part of her everyday life. It wasn’t in her good nature, but it was a daring side that she thought she might have within her. Petyr’s eyes watched her face during her thought process.

  
“I don’t even know. I think some part of me,” she tried to form the phrasing she wanted. Didn’t want to sound too much like a good girl gone bad cliché. “Perhaps I just wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

  
He eyed her for a moment. The constant analyzing had to be some tactic. There was no way he thought about every single thing he said before he spoke it out loud. He had to know how uncomfortable he was making her. Used it to his advantage how unbalanced he could make her with one lingering look.

“Would you like a taste of the darker side of Inferno Sansa?”

  
Or how he made her stomach twist when he said things like that.

“What do you mean?” she laughed nervously again. Her features straightened when he didn’t join in. “What are you asking me?”

  
Whirlwind conversations seemed to be the new norm for the two of them. Going from dazed to dizzying in a second. Except she’d been dizzied from the beginning of this one. The churning in her stomach hadn’t subsided since she’d stepped into his office.

  
“I could mean a multitude of things right now,” he raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, as if he was actively trying to keep the smirk at bay. He knew she was uncomfortable and he wasn’t getting to the point. “But I have a bit of job for you tonight besides your normal server duties. Do you think you’re up for it?”

  
“Maybe you should tell me what it is before I say yes or no.”

  
He chuckled, “Ramsay Bolton. You’ve caught his eye. If I know him like I think I do, he won’t spend his time on the second level when he sees you serving tonight.”

  
Sansa swallowed and frowned; her eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “Why do you think I’ve caught his eye?”

  
“Well… I don’t think that, I know that. I’ve had to rebuff his offers plenty of times when he asked for you instead of Ros.”

  
“I’m not an Inferno Girl. You said I’d never be one.”

  
“And you won’t. I’d just like you to humor me and test a theory. You’ll get to be a completely different person Sansa. A darker version of yourself if you want. Maybe you’ll like it more. Maybe it’ll come easier to you tonight. Halloween does interesting things to people after all. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What you actually stayed with this fic and read it?  
> Kudos to you. I love you. 
> 
> This girl just wanted to get some kind of update on this fic. (Which can sometimes be unsatisfactory when it's shorter than usual, with not a lot of development. But honestly I can't apologize anymore because I'll sound like a broken record.) 
> 
> Next up will be Halloween part II where plot things ACTUALLY happen.  
> And I swear we will get to this damn fictional election night chapter that started this fic. At least that one is done. That will for sure be number nine!


End file.
